


Good Fences, Good Neighbors

by fencer_x



Series: Fences, and the Sides Thereof [2]
Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Semi-AU in which Ritsu decides to stick it out at Onodera Publishing rather than transfer to Marukawa Shoten. If he’d never gone over to Marukawa, would Ritsu have been doomed to pine after “Saga-sempai” forever?





	1. Chapter 1

Onodera Ritsu winced as his head hit his desk with more force than he'd initially intended to allow it—it had to say something when he couldn't even muster up the strength to properly slump against his own workspace—and heaved a great sigh, ruffling the documents and memos, snippets of half-finished first and second drafts and post-its reminding him about meetings he'd already taken part in a week before.

He closed his eyes, letting the soft drone of the office wash over him, muffled by the tall dividers separating the literature department's editing offices from the marketing division on the left and the shounen manga's editing division on the right. It'd be so easy to just catch a nap right here—half of his coworkers were out picking up manuscripts or taking part in planning meetings, and the other half were buried in their own work. Just like Ritsu was supposed to be right now.

He could hear the chatter already, the idle gossip. Snide remarks that _well isn't he lucky he's the company head’s beloved only son and can nap the day away while we work our asses off_ and _I'd be resting comfortably too if I had the best author in our ranks handed to me on a silver platter_. Which was bullshit, of course. Ritsu worked as hard as any of them—Usami Akihiko was a damn good writer, but he was quite particular about his work, and if he thought the draft that he'd been working on for the past two weeks was, in fact, utter drivel, then he'd toss it out with the burnable garbage and start anew, leaving Ritsu scrambling to get the manuscript to the printers in time. It was harrowing work, but rewarding.

It did weigh heavily at times, though—the accusations of nepotism (nevermind that he'd been working there longer than most of his coworkers and that they'd seen firsthand how many times he'd still been in the office the next morning, bags under his eyes and wearing the same clothes as the day before, after pulling an all-nighter). Sometimes—times like now, really—he wondered why he even put up with it.

He was an Onodera, he had the publishing world at his feet, really. With one phone call, he could find himself a cushy position anywhere within the company or any other respectable publishing house. There was no need to sit here and bow his head to people who very obviously lacked any respect for him beyond that which they felt compelled to give him in light of his name. And yet…

He couldn't. He couldn't do it—he couldn't just quit and run away and hide in some other company. He couldn't let those jealous eyes see him backing out with his tail between his legs and head hung low as he sought refuge from their biting commentary. What would it prove, even if he snuck over to the literature department of some equally respectable house like Marukawa or something and made a name for himself? It wouldn't stop the accusations—they'd just find some new detail to latch onto: maybe his daddy had pulled some strings and gotten him an easy client again, maybe everyone just treated him nicely because of the money and power behind his name, maybe maybe maybe.

So no, he vowed to the plastic grain of his desk where he had his nose smushed against the surface, he wasn't going to leave Onodera Publishing until they kicked him out. Gossip or no—he would grin and bear it and take on two, no— _three_ more authors, abject newbies who hadn't published more than a poem or a short story or two, and he'd help build them up to greatness right under the very noses of those who'd see him make a fool of himself.

Right after he figured out how to do just that.

* * *

It was tough, sometimes, being a single, 25-year-old guy with no real friends aside from the occasional rival editor who didn't mind the family name that came attached to his given one, and definitely no _more than friends_ to speak of. An-chan most definitely didn't count; it'd been hard to even have a normal conversation with her since they'd graduated high school, even _without_ the nearly 10,000 kilometers of ocean between them.

Fiancee or not, she probably never could've been the kind of person Ritsu could just sit down with at a coffee shop and spill his work woes and hopes and dreams to, no matter how much she wanted. Ritsu definitely loved her—like a sister. And the knowledge that that would never be enough for her was enough to keep him hands-off until time soothed her wounded pride and lessened any feelings of awkwardness between them. It'd been years now, though, and still he couldn't quite look her in the eye or be alone with her for extended periods of time without the awkwardness encroaching and suffocating them.

Most of his coworkers avoided him for obvious reasons, shrinking from even the most tentative efforts to strike up a conversation or try to build bridges of companionship, aside from the likes of Saeki-san who, for whatever reason, thought Ritsu actually wanted to be her own personal sounding board for her dating ups and downs. It was nice, though, having someone to talk to, even if their hobbies didn't quite coincide such that all they ever really managed to talk about for an extended period of time was work.

But Saeki-san didn't live near him, and An-chan was out of the country; all Ritsu had now was a half-finished manuscript waiting to have a red pen taken to it, two cups of shrimp ramen in his cupboard, and a library book that was two days overdue even though he'd finished reading it last week.

He sighed loudly, exasperation echoing in the dark chill of a late fall evening, made all the louder by the fact that he was the only person still out wandering around at a quarter to midnight on a little-used back street in his neighborhood, working up the effort it would require to scale the stairs and shove the book into the night-drop slot. He'd pay the fine next time he dropped in—if there even was one. He was normally quite prompt in returning his books and hadn't paid a fine of any sort in years, but this week had been murder and he'd barely had time to crawl into bed between coming from and going to work, so returning library books was…not exactly high on his list of priorities.

He pulled his coat tighter around him and readjusted the bag at his shoulder, giving a soft grunt as he mounted the steps, plodding onward and upward to the top. The soles of his shoes grated against the hard concrete, giving off a crackling rasp as he trod across dead leaves and detritus, still wet from the shower earlier that afternoon, and ground them into so much mulch beneath his feet. _Crunch crunch crunch_ …followed by a softer, deeper echo, just off tempo with his own and keeping time as he scaled the stone steps.

Ritsu frowned, bracing one hand on the cold metal railing and ignoring the bite of the steel against his ungloved hand, and twisted his upper body around to glance over his shoulder. "Ah…" he started, dumbly, for two steps below him, following him up like a dog at its master's heel, was another man—tall enough that even with the incline Ritsu only just met his eyeline. "G—good evening," he greeted instinctively, and hunkered back down into his jacket, finishing his ascent.

"Evening," the man returned with a bit more of a lilt to his voice than Ritsu had offered, and soon the echo was back, finishing up the final few steps to alight on the landing at the top and waiting patiently, it seemed, for Ritsu to finish his business.

Years of good manners drilled into his head pressed Ritsu to attempt a conversation—the weather, the time of day, the library books they both held to their chests, _any_ topic would do—for when two strangers passed each other on an empty stretch of street, wasn't it polite to acknowledge their presence? Particularly when they could hardly be ignored without it being _obvious_ you were ignoring them?

Ritsu approached the drop box slowly, shuffling forward so as not to slip on any of the leaves or other debris littering the landing, and reached out to pull down the lip of the bin. "Hard to believe it's nearly November and still no sign of snow, huh?"

There was a pause, dead silence in the air, the kind of silence that creeps in on chilly nights when it's too late to be early and too early to be late, and Ritsu flinched when he slid the book home and it dropped with a metallic thud atop the pile of others inside the box. He glanced over his shoulder and stepped back to let his companion deliver his own books.

But the man was just standing two steps down staring at him strangely, then cocked his head. "…Did you just move to Tokyo from up north or something?"

"Eh?"

"Just—" He narrowed his eyes at Ritsu, who clenched his hands tight at the strap to his bag hanging at his shoulder. "—it won't snow here for a while. It just gets damned cold and brings more rain than is decent till nearly New Year's." He swept his gaze over Ritsu in one quick glance, then pressed past him to reach the drop-box, dropping in first one heavy book before drawing two smaller novels from his own bag and depositing these as well.

Ritsu flushed at the harsh commentary; he'd only been making conversation. Even if the guy was right—he'd never experienced snow in Kantou before December in his life—he didn't really appreciate the slight patronizing tone. "Ah, no, I just—meant it was chilly… Feels like there should be snow, not just a cold drizzle like we always get."

The man snorted softly, nodding amicably and thankfully not calling Ritsu on his hasty cover-up. "I'll give you that it's cold—spent part of my childhood in Shikoku, so I'm used to milder winters." Ritsu gave a small _haa_ of assent, then took a quick step back when the man spun on his heel and pulled his jacket closer, flipping up the collar against a cold wind that had whipped up out of nowhere and was now blowing around those leaves not weighed down with water and dirt. "Have a good evening," he offered gruffly before starting down the steps again ahead of Ritsu.

"Ah, you too," Ritsu returned dumbly, reaching out again for the comfort of the railing as he followed down the steps as well. He let his eyes trail after the imposing back of the man as he descended, briefcase slapping against his leg and breath coming out in barely detectable cloudy puffs. He'd had a nice voice, he'd noticed—even laced with a hint of barely concealed contempt—and a gentle amusement despite its cigarette-roughened gruffness. He carried himself with confidence—a boss of…something, probably. Snapping at his underlings left and right to get projects done by this date or contact this or that client. And dropping by the local library after a long day to drop off an overdue book or three.

Ritsu smiled to himself and shook his head—what the hell was he doing daydreaming in the middle of the night on the steps of the library? He really _had_ been working himself too hard—proving himself to ungrateful, jealous coworkers was hardly worth losing his head in his downtime.

The man stood at the foot of the stairs, lost in his own thoughts as he checked his cellphone, and Ritsu sighed to himself and stepped forward—

—right into a pile of wet leaves and slippery detritus that had accumulated into a murky mess, sending Ritsu scrambling for purchase as he lost his footing and slammed into the concrete, releasing an embarrassing yelp as he tried to brace himself for impact. The edge of a step cut into his side and his shoulder slammed against one of the metal poles of the railing, and he curled into a defensive ball, paying little attention to his bag spilling his wallet and cellphone onto the concrete in favor of protecting himself. "Owowowowow…" he hissed softly, feeling the pain blossoming at the bits of himself that had suffered impact as well as in his pride—at least it was the middle of the night and hopefully no one had seen…

"Oi! Oi, are you all right?" The sound of grit scraping underneath shoes reached his ears as the man—of course, it figured—scaled the steps, scrambling up to where Ritsu lay in a bundle of clothes and knees with his face burning with shame. Not only did he hurt himself in a stupid, avoidable accident (he _had_ been distracted…) but now he had a total stranger trying to help him, and Ritsu hated putting people out like this.

He immediately tried to right himself, endeavoring to at least sit up straight, and ignored the man's concerns, waving him off and failing to find his tongue even as the man groped for the railing and slid to a stop, towering over Ritsu now in his fallen state. "I'm—fine, please don't concern yourself with me. I just slipped on the leaves, really it's—"

But the man had already dropped into a squat, bracing his hands along Ritsu's legs splayed out in front of him, ostensibly feeling for a break or misalignment. His features were hard, expression grave behind the thick-rimmed glasses he wore, and when he found nothing wrong with Ritsu's legs, he slid a hand up his torso, pushing his unbuttoned coat lapels to the side, and pressed fingers experimentally up his abdomen and over his ribs. Ritsu could but watch it all unfold, frozen in shock at his forwardness, until something twigged in his head and he hastily shoved the unwanted attentions away, pulling his coat shut and scooting backwards until he no longer had the man's imposing figure towering over him.

"I—thank you, but I'm fine. I just slipped—I'm pretty sure only my pride was hurt."

He could all but hear the unspoken quip that _I'll believe that when I see it_ , but his body language seemed to get his discomfort across loud and clear enough, and the man eventually relented, straightening up and stretching a hand down as a peace offering. Ritsu regarded it for a moment, wary, but eventually deemed it safer for his pride if he took the man's hand than if he risked trying to stand under his own power.

With a soft grunt, he hoisted himself upright, teetering unsteadily for a moment and growing uncomfortably aware of the way the man's hands were now hovering about his shoulders, obviously ready to help steady him. After a moment, though, he found his bearings and took a breath. "Thank you…"

"You're really all right?" It wasn't the harsh disbelief from earlier, but genuine concern that colored the man's voice now—and Ritsu felt a twinge of guilt for not appreciating his attentions to Ritsu's well-being when so earnestly given. Good samaritans _did_ still exist, it seemed.

Ritsu nodded several times, casting about for his satchel and frowning when he saw that half its contents had gone skidding across the pavement. The man must have guessed his intentions before Ritsu could even make a move, though, and ducked around him to gather up the items.

"Ah—you don't have to—" Ritsu started pathetically, but the man ignored him with a soft, "It's fine, stay there," and continued snatching up his wallet, cellphone, work ID—

The man frowned, fingering the ID, and read aloud. "…Onodera Shuppan, Literature, Editing Department… Onodera Ritsu." He flicked his gaze over to Ritsu, who swallowed guiltily. Did the guy have to look at him like sharing a last name with the company was a cardinal sin or something? "You're an editor?"

"…Eh?" That had decidedly not been the point he'd expected the guy to latch onto. "I…yeah?"

He _hmm_ ed in interest, flipping the ID over to see if it held any more secrets, then shrugged and shoved it back into Ritsu's pack, pressing it towards him. "Small world."

Ritsu gave a soft _oof_ and accepted the satchel, but kept his gaze fixed on the man. "'Small world'?"

The man fished around in his pocket, brows lifting when he found the small card case he'd been searching for, and whipped out a business card as smoothly as if they'd been in some boardroom meeting. "Hardly the time and place to exchange cards, but…" Ritsu tentatively took the proffered card with one hand, forced to balance himself with the other against the railing, and mouthed the mess of kanji splattered across the smooth white surface in raised black lettering. _Marukawa Shoten, 'Monthly Emerald' Editing Division Head for Shoujo Manga… Takano Masamune_.

"M— _Marukawa_?!"

"Ah good—you can still read; guess you're not concussed."

Ritsu flushed at the comment, jerking the card to his chest when Takano reached out like he wanted to take it back now that they'd been introduced. "What's a Marukawa editor doing here in the middle of the night?"

Takano raised a brow. "…Is this Onodera Shuppan turf or something and I'm trespassing? I live near here; why else would I be here?"

Ritsu was starting to get the idea that this biting, sarcastic Takano was the usual Takano and less so the one who'd shown such concern when Ritsu'd been on his ass on the cold, concrete steps of the library. "I didn't mean…" he started, biting his tongue. "It's just—a weird coincidence. Is all."

Takano gave a _hmph_ but let the matter drop. "Can you walk?"

"I think so…" Ritsu responded without contention; it would be wise to try and be the better man here—at least until his feet were back on level ground. "Thank you for your help, Takano-san. I can handle myself now, though." It was wise he had his back turned to the man, as he was quite sure that Takano had rolled his eyes at this assertion.

And for good reason, as it was glaringly obvious Ritsu was in no fit state to get back to his apartment before morning. As luck would have it, he strongly suspected he'd messed up his ankle something fierce and winced with each step he took as his pants leg brushed against the raw, exposed skin while the bone protested under the weight of his body. He bit back a whimper and tried not to be obvious in favoring his opposite foot. He could feel Takano's eyes on him, boring holes in his back as he sat there and just _watched_ Ritsu struggling down the stairs—but both knew perfectly well that any aid would be met with refusal, and so none was offered or asked for.

Takano calmly plodded along behind him until he reached the landing at the bottom, pausing to get himself in order and resituating his bag across his shoulder. He hoped his cellphone screen hadn't cracked or that any water had seeped in, that would just be the icing on this evening's cake. He'd inspect the damage at home, at any rate—possibly just before sinking into a nice warm bath. He still had one or two of those smelly bath bombs one of the office assistants had given all the editors in his department for Christmas last year. Those things didn't have expiration dates, did they?

The distraction of bath bombs was enough to make him forget momentarily about the throbbing pain in his ankle, and he took a step forward—unwisely placing pressure on his injured foot and teetering unsteadily when the obvious reaction came. Frustratingly enough, though, Takano was at his side in an instant, hands now firmly on his shoulders and that note of concern tinging his voice.

"You're sure you don't need help?"

"I _don't_ ," Ritsu returned stubbornly, laughingly pathetic given that he very obviously _did_. It was going to take a good half hour of shuffling to get home at this rate—and the wind was whipping up again and threatening to bring another shower before dawn broke. "I…" he started again, then let his shoulders slump. "It's fine, really. It's manageable."

"My ass it is," Takano bit out, but it wasn't as harsh as before; it was strange how in the span of only a few minutes Ritsu was already finding a familiarity in defining Takano's feelings on any subject just by the lilt in his voice or the edge to his words. "Here." Takano bumped Ritsu's arm with his own elbow, every bit the tall gentleman dressed slickly in black, a warm refuge against the chill of the night. "Grab on. We'll walk together."

Ritsu shied away, easing back onto his good leg and pulling his satchel around to place a barrier between them. "No—seriously. It's not a big—and you don't even _live_ in this direct—"

"I do."

"Huh?"

"Just past the conbini there, a few blocks east." And he had a point—it wasn't exactly out of his way for the most part, if he really did live where he said. And he was offering. And Ritsu was in a lot more pain than he wanted to let on to a virtual stranger. So he should take help wherever he could get it, right?

He sighed softly and reached around with one arm, looping it under Takano's in a most embarrassing manner and holding fast, using him as a crutch as they made their way forward as one, slowly but surely plodding forward—and at a pace at least twice that which Ritsu would have endured alone.

"So, literature huh?"

"Huh?" Oh, right. His ID badge. "Oh—yeah. I've always been more comfortable around books than other people I guess." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Guess it only made sense to go into publishing…" Takano could have made some remark, a snide one, on this point, but he let it go with a soft _hmm_ , and Ritsu dared a glance up. "And you've got no room to judge, Takano-san. Really, _shoujo manga_?"

He felt Takano seize up the tiniest bit when Ritsu called him by his name, but it was quickly lost behind a derisive snort. "I go where I'm told and do a damned good job regardless of the material. They needed a new head editor for that department and I fit the bill, that's all."

Ritsu nodded in silence, taking in the new information—that's right, Takano wasn't just an editor, he was the _head_ editor. And shoujo manga or literature or whatever, that was nothing to sneeze at. He groped for another topic of conversation. "…Do you go to that library often?"

Takano shrugged. "Often enough." Well, wasn't he the chatty type? After a beat of silence, even Takano must have realized it was a pithy comment and just shy of rude, for he added as an afterthought, "…It's hard to find the time between projects to just sit and really appreciate a book for itself rather than picking it apart."

Ritsu laughed—actually _laughed_ at this admission, because…who didn't feel that way after being in this business for any length of time? Certainly it fit Ritsu himself to a T. He realized belatedly, though, that he might have sounded like he was making fun of Takano's frank admission, and he flushed lightly, explaining, "I mean—isn't that how any editor feels? Like they can't just _read_ books anymore?" He'd spent so many long hours cooped up in libraries before, it was hard to imagine that a time would ever come when he focused more on a mistransformed kanji or sloppy theme than on the actual pleasure of reading.

But then again, it wasn't entirely true that he'd spent all that time in the library _just_ reading books, was it?

After a pause, regarding Ritsu, Takano smiled softly. "Yup. Sad."

They rounded the corner at the conbini and continued their slow but sure trek towards Ritsu's apartment complex. At least he had an elevator—taking the steps would _suck_ right about now, especially if he had to climb them himself, as he inevitably would whenever Takano broke off to head his own way home.

But the break-off never came, and soon they were the both of them slowing to a stop at the front entrance to Ritsu's complex. He disentangled himself from Takano's grasp, grateful that the man didn't put up a fight, and resituated his pack on his shoulder, giving a stiff bow that actually hurt a hell of a lot. "Thank you—for walking me all the way here. I'm sure it's out of your way, so I apologize for the—"

"I live here, too."

Ritsu snapped back up, an unwise move that threw a cramp into his lower back. Oh he _really_ wanted that bath right about now. Usami-sensei's check was going to have to wait till tomorrow. "You—what?"

Takano just blinked at him blankly, pointing to a mailbox bearing a name plate that Ritsu had surely glanced at every time he reached to remove his mail from his own box underneath it but had obviously never really _noticed_.

 _Takano Masamune_. 1201. His _next-door neighbor_.

"Oh, I…see…" He laughed nervously, licking his lips. Now he probably seemed like a workaholic with his head in the clouds who didn't even have enough sense to get to know his neighbors and offer a greeting when they passed in the hallways. Which, well, he _was_. But still, it wasn't nice having that fact broadcast. "I'm sorry, I've got such a hectic schedule—it's hard to keep track of—"

"I don't mind," Takano responded flatly, and despite the affected lack of emotion in his voice, Ritsu still appreciated that he was helping keep the atmosphere from becoming too tense. He was covering for Ritsu, in his own way. "I didn't recognize your name either."

…Ritsu supposed that was one of those "back-handed compliments" people talked about.

An elbow bumped him, and Ritsu started before realizing Takano was offering his arm again. Which was stupid, he didn't need it; he had a measly fifty paces to go now from where they stood to his front door.

He took it anyways; "Sorry…" he apologized for what must have been the twentieth time in the past half hour. It was demeaning, being so dependent on someone this way, but it would be even more horrific to fall on his ass again, especially in front of someone in his same field. There was some editors' code of honor he felt obliged to uphold, and that included not falling on one's ass before competitors (nevermind that, given their separate genres, he was hardly Takano's _competitor_ ).

"You don't have to keep apologizing, you know."

"Ah—I'm—" He barely caught himself in time, and his heart gave a sickening double beat, clenching in his chest as some unknown memory washed over him. More embarrassing than the feelings that started churning in his gut at this was the fact that he clung just a bit more tightly to Takano's arm for it. If this bothered Takano, though, he didn't show it.

The elevator gave a soft _ding_ , and they boarded, riding in silence up to their floor, where they hobbled like participants in a three-legged race the last few meters to Ritsu's door. Takano steadied him with one hand on his shoulder while Ritsu fumbled for his keys, eventually managing to slide the appropriate one into the lock and pulling the door open. "I think I can manage it from here."

"You're sure?" And Ritsu wondered just what Takano was thinking he could possibly _do_ for Ritsu if he'd said otherwise.

"I think I'm just going to take a bath and head to bed…"

Takano glanced down at his foot in obvious disapproval, but said nothing, instead offering only, "Well I'm next door if you need anything. Just buzz. And my contact information's on that card of mine you took." Why Ritsu would need his contact information was beyond him, but his hand instinctively dipped into his pocket where he'd tucked the card, running a finger along its edges.

Ritsu nodded dumbly. "…Right, thank you. Good night, Takano-san."

"Night, Onodera." Ritsu froze at his name—they weren't that close. Would it have killed Takano to at least tack an honorific onto it? But he didn't seem the type to care all that much, and Ritsu was sore in too many places to care either.

He nodded again and stepped across his threshold, falling back against the closed door with a soft, relieved sigh.

What a day.


	2. Chapter 2

Ritsu's eyes crawled slowly over the kanji on the card, finger following along and reading the raised ridges like Braille. He'd practically memorized everything on the card by now—even down to the man's cellphone number and work email address. Not that he ever thought he'd have occasion to use either; it'd just happened after reading the card over for the fifteenth time.

"Heeeh, Onodera-kun's got a _girlfriend_ huh~" came a sly voice from behind him, and Ritsu had barely time enough to twist in his chair, a frown on his face, than he found the card snatched from his grasp, now being perused by bright, calculating eyes that lit up with mischief. "Maybe I should've been letting _you_ tell me about all your failed dating efforts than the other way around~"

Ritsu's frown melted into one of annoyance, and he grabbed for the card. "Give it back, Saeki-san. It's not a _girl_ , it's—"

"Holy _SHIT_. Where did you—" She gripped one of Ritsu's shoulders in a vice-like hold, staring him down earnestly. "Why do you have Takano Masamune's card?!"

"…Eh?" It was quite possibly one of the strangest experiences in Ritsu's life, having a manga editor nearly half his size all but _looming_ over him in a darkened corner of the staff break room where, before that moment, he'd been silently brooding over the man who'd helped him home the night before (and then doing a bit of meta-brooding over why he was doing such brooding in the first place) during his dinner break.

Saeki-san sighed loudly and slumped into a chair beside Ritsu, leaning forward and fingering the card in her hands, staring at it accusingly through squinted eyes. "You're not even in the shoujo manga division—what're you doing hanging around with the likes of Takano-san?"

Ritsu took advantage of her focus being elsewhere to reach forward and snatch back the card, clutching it like a lifeline, and furrowed his brows. "I just…happened to run into him."

"And you _happened_ to exchange business cards when you're not even in related fields—"

"Hey, we're both editors!"

"That's like a butcher and a baker exchanging business cards cause they're both in the business of selling people food," she drawled, rolling her eyes, and propped her head up in one hand. "So seriously, how'd you get a famous editor's card so easily? You didn't _seriously_ just run into him, right?"

Ritsu hastily shoved the card back behind his own cards in the little case he carried around in his coat pocket. "Not in so many words, I guess." She just lifted a brow, waiting for the full story, and when he realized she wasn't going to leave him alone until he gave a more believable explanation, he slumped in his chair. "…Apparently he's my next door neighbor."

"He's your _WHAT_?!" The shrill exclamation made it sound like Ritsu'd just announced he and Takano were dating or something, and he quickly glanced around, nervously waving off the strange looks they were getting. "You've been living next to probably the greatest editor in the shoujo manga world all this time and you never said anything to _me_?" Without waiting for his response, she grabbed both his hands in hers, eyes going wide. "Introduce me? Please please pretty please? I have _so_ much I could ask him and learn from him!"

"Ah, iya—I'm not really all that—"

"Come onnnn, Onodera! Drinks after work between a bunch of editors, it wouldn't have to be weird at all! Or I could come over to hang out at your place for a couple of hours after work and maybe I just _happen_ to ring your neighbor's bell because I got your apartment wrong! And then—and then our eyes would meet across the threshold…and my heart would skip a beat, _doki_ ~!" She threw herself onto the table, a goofy smile playing at her lips. "Mmm, I think I've been reading too much of my own material these days!"

Ritsu regarded her with a raised brow and refrained from mentioning that he was thinking just the same thing. "We're really not that close, honestly. I wouldn't feel comfortable inviting a virtual stranger out for drinks, especially if it's just so you could test your chances of dating him or something."

She shook a finger in his face. "That's just a woman's fantasy, Onodera-kun! I could still seriously get a lot of pointers from a guy like that…"

"'Guy like that'?"

"Don't you know?" She pushed herself back up and grew serious. "That's the famous manga editor who pulled Emerald up from the bottom of the competition heap to the very top in just one year! Hardly any small feat, if you ask me. And—" She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Word is he goes for just what he wants—whether at work, or at play. Which basically means he's a playboy—but given those looks of his I don't find it hard to believe." At Ritsu's shocked confusion, she hastened to add, "I mean, it's all just rumors though…"

Quickly snapping himself out of his funk on realizing Saeki-san was trying to soften her blows, he laughed it off. "You sure are well-informed, Saeki-san! Maybe you _have_ been working in shoujo manga for too long!"

She shoved him good-naturedly and snorted. "You should never underestimate the enemy, Onodera-kun! Maybe you should do a little research into the literature bigwigs over at Marukawa yourself! Unless you intend on just riding Daddy's coat-tails forever!" Her jabs lacked any of the sarcastic bite that accompanied others', though, and Ritsu just let them roll off his back, smiling and shaking his head as he finished his salad. "Well, if you happen to 'run into' Takano-san again, try and see if he'll spill any deep dark editing secrets for me, would you?" And she clapped him on both shoulders and excused herself.

Ritsu watched her go, but his mind was still back on her anecdata about Takano. A playboy—but more than that, a damn good editor. Saeki-san wasn't prone to unmerited flattery, and Takano was hardly standing right there to receive it anyways, so if she really was as excited as she'd seemed at the prospect of getting a few pointers from such a man, he obviously had skills. Maybe Ritsu should try and get a few tips himself…

He shook his head. Geez, the guy was in charge of shoujo manga—afternoon reading fodder for teenage girls on their way home from school. He was in the literature department, _real_ books, not just comics. Not that he meant to disparage the likes of Saeki-san, who no doubt put forth great effort on their products, but… they were hardly rivals, and he sincerely doubted anything Takano could offer him would be of much use in his field.

And why was he even considering whether or not Takano could teach him anything? They barely knew each other's names, were no closer "friends" than he was with any of his other neighbors; he wasn't likely to find himself in any situation where he might be able to prise such information from the man in the first place. So why was he thinking about it?

Because Saeki-san had brought it up was all. With her talk about seducing Takano, and how he was a playboy who went for what he wanted with ruthless efficiency…

He took a swig of his oolong tea, downing the last few drops with a frown and shook the thoughts from his mind. Usami-sensei was due in meeting room C to discuss the status of his next work in the next half hour. He definitely had more important things to think about than what was going on in apartment 1201.

* * *

It was always a harrowing experience, catching the last train home. You never really knew if you were going to be able to squeeze on with all the other hopeless workaholic schmucks trying to get home themselves, and taking a taxi home just wasn't something he wanted to deal with at nearly midnight.

Tonight, though, luck was with him, and he actually managed to even find a seat at his changeover, thankful for once that he'd opted for a somewhat off-the-beaten-path area to call home. The streets were dead quiet, with a dry, crisp chill in the air. His nose burned from the cold, and he shivered underneath his layers and picked up the pace. His leg still twinged when he put too much pressure on it, but the only other reminder of his spill the previous night was a lovely bruise that was still an angry purple blemish on his ankle. An image of Takano's frowning face, griping at him to take a taxi home and not risk further injury, blossomed in his mind, and he grumbled to himself, "Taxis aren't exactly cheap you know…"

He eventually made it to his front lobby, though, scaling the few shallow steps into the front foyer and breathed a sigh of relief. At least tomorrow was Friday, and then he could recover from this hectic week over the weekend; maybe he'd spend the afternoon Saturday at the library: his conversation with Takano the previous evening had stirred in him a longing to go back to those lazy days after school holed up in a corner of the library or at a table, poring over a book on a subject he didn't even care about that much, just for the joy of the quiet peace it imparted.

Some had thought him _hikikomori_ , given how he avoided joining any of the school clubs, while others had gossiped—oh had there ever been a time in his life when such gossip _hadn't_ dogged his heels?—that the only son of the Onodera family was too good to get his hands dirty outside doing real boys' work. He'd borne their teasing, behind his back as it was, and never let it deter him from what he'd really wanted to do—and in the end, he'd been rewarded with _Saga-sempai_.

He hadn't _meant_ to…develop whatever feelings he had. It had just been an oddity at first—a dark, quiet upperclassman who certainly looked like he had better places to be (like in the middle of a group of friends telling some raunchy joke and getting girls to flutter their eyes and hike up their skirts for him) than hunched over a book and reading with more fervor than Ritsu suspected he afforded any of his classroom studies. It was…intriguing. Enrapturing. And no matter how crowded the library became or where Ritsu found himself a little cubbyhole to tuck himself away in out of the way of other students…he always had an awareness of just where Saga-sempai was.

He could detect his footsteps across the rough carpet when he returned a book to the shelf, each footfall like a _ping_ on his radar calling out to Ritsu: _Fiction… fiction… fiction…_ or now _reference… reference… reference_.

He'd often fantasized about curling up on a couch, the cushions warmed by a beam of afternoon sunlight, sitting silent and content with his side pressed against Saga-sempai while they read their respective books—or even, shared one!—Saga-sempai reaching out blindly and taking one of Ritsu's hands in his own large ones, lacing their fingers together and squeezing softly, a reminder of their mutual feelings for one another and—

—and _now_ who was the one too caught up in the world of shoujo manga (or would that be BL, technically…)? Ritsu slapped his flushed cheeks, mortified that he'd let himself reminisce (and _fantasize_ , ugh) about incidents ten years' past. No matter how important those few years in middle and high school might have been in making him the man he was today (for better or worse), it certainly didn't excuse him acting like a character in one of Saeki-san's books (no, even Saeki-san wouldn't have let an author get away with penning a wishy-washy character like him).

He glumly pressed the "up" button on the elevators, watching as descending floors illuminated until a soft _ding_ echoed in the empty lobby and the doors slid open. He reached around and pressed his floor, closing his eyes as the doors shut behind him, but was abruptly jerked from his thoughts by a voice calling out, "Wait—hold the door please—!" and his hand immediately flew to the pad, sending the doors back open.

A man, huffing with exertion, shuffled inside, nearly filling the whole car it felt with his presence (had Ritsu just never noticed that all the men in his building seemed to be twice his size?). He slowed his breathing purposefully and straightened his trenchcoat, readjusting his grip on the plastic conbini bag he held (heavy with a six-pack of beer; Ritsu found himself wishing he had something stronger than grapefruit juice waiting at home) and giving an acknowledging nod to Ritsu, who took a step to the side to give the man some space. He tried to focus his attention elsewhere, reviewing the notice taped to the side of the car advising residents of mandatory maintenance the next Tuesday evening and was just reviewing his schedule in his head to be sure he'd be around after the cars were running again, when the car came to a halt—and Ritsu realized they'd arrived at his floor.

Expecting the man to politely let him off first before continuing on to wherever he was headed above, he nearly collided with the other occupant as he shoved his way out the door and down the hall. Ritsu frowned at his retreating figure but was far too tired (and really, wasn't the type to pick fights with people twice his size) and let the man trundle off to his apartment.

Ritsu busied himself checking his cellphone for missed messages as his feet took him the well-walked way to his apartment door, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the man draw to a stop just before Ritsu's own door—or rather, in front of Takano's door.

A polite knock. No response, wait five seconds…and then he pressed the buzzer. Still no response, and five more seconds, and now he applied a _fist_ banging on the door, and Ritsu could be forgiven for staring, because when strange, imposing men went around banging on doors in the middle of the night, wasn't that something to be worried about?

"Oi, Masamune! Open up!" Ritsu flinched—this guy was a friend of Takano's? Or rather, he _hoped_ he was a friend and not some thug here to collect some payment due or another…

Ritsu tried to make himself as small as possible as he slinked past, hoping not to catch the man's attention and just sneak into his apartment as quickly as possible. He could hear Takano inside his own apartment grumbling something incoherent through the door, eventually pushing it open and griping at the man, "Geez, what the hell are you doing here?"

The man held up his bag of booze. "I told you I was coming. It's the only way I'm ever going to get you to keep your promise and drink with me."

"What kind of an idi—oh." Ritsu froze in place when he felt Takano's gaze fall on him in his failed effort to sneak past. "Onodera?"

Now the bear of a man turned as well and regarded Ritsu anew, gaze hardening. "Who's 'Onodera'?"

Ritsu was already fumbling for his keys, twisting so that his back was to the pair, but Takano wouldn't take the hint and just carried on like Ritsu wasn't doing his damnedest to escape notice. "Next-door neighbor."

"I can _see_ that." But if he expected Takano to give any further explanation, he didn't wait for it. "So can I come in?"

Takano pushed the door open further just as Ritsu slid his key home, hands slick with sweat as he pressed on the handle to pull the door open. He gave a little bow, only enough for politeness' sake, to the man's retreating form and Takano's concerned expression.

"Your leg okay?"

Ritsu favored him with a glance, nodded a few times in quick succession, and bundled himself inside with a short, "Good night," and shut the door behind him.

The relatively thin walls did little to muffle the visitor's deep voice, as imposing itself as its owner, and he heard the pair talking—arguing—long after they'd parted ways in the hall.

Masamune. The man had called him by his given name. And—what did it matter? People called people by their given names all the time. Usually when they were friends, or family even (how did he know that wasn't Takano's older brother? Or cousin visiting from Chiba? Or childhood friend or college roommate?). But for some reason he kept latching onto Saeki-san, her melodic voice sing-songing in his mind that Takano was a wolf who went straight for what he wanted, who was ruthless in his work and suitably so at "play", and it somehow didn't strike Ritsu that he'd have casual drinking buddies who just happened to come over at after-midnight with beer and a booming voice demanding entrance.

Why Ritsu cared about this in the least was beyond him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Next week. Next Friday night. I'll be here."

Masamune resisted the urge to bodily shove his friend towards the door, instead bottling up his frustration at Yokozawa's casual, lazy approach to readying himself to leave behind a blase mask, leaning against a bit of wall and crossing his arms over his chest. "I heard you the first fifteen times. It's not like I ever have anything else to do so long as none of my lazy-ass authors break a deadline."

Yokozawa snorted, a bit more of a giggle in his voice than normally would've been present, eased there by the four beers he'd downed (even if he _had_ been the one to treat Masamune, it was kind of a dick move to drink two-thirds of the spoils himself). "You've got Ichinose Erika on your roll—like she's ever going to give the great and powerful _Takano-sama_ a problem."

"She's a good author regardless of her scheduling prowess. She's a _great_ author _with_ it, though." Yokozawa teetered unsteadily in the genkan, bent in half at the waist as he slipped a toe into his loafers without bothering to untie them. "Don't die in my genkan, please. It's too late and I don't feel like dragging your ass to the hospital."

Yokozawa just waved him off and slowly drew himself back up to his full height, twisting around and glaring at Masamune through hooded eyes. The guy was a handful when _sober_ , and worse so when he had a little alcohol in him. It was manageable enough when the editing team went out for drinks and Yokozawa tagged along (as he was wont to do), but there were reasons Masamune avoided being alone too much with the guy when he wanted to get drunk just for the sake of getting drunk. "Next Friday, Masamune. And don't you try and weasel out of it."

"Right right," Masamune agreed evenly, sighing and placing his hands on Yokozawa's shoulders to guide him out. "Bring something better than a six-pack next time, too. Or I'll leave you out in the cold." It was an empty threat; Yokozawa could make quite a ruckus, and it wasn't like _he_ had to answer to a landlord for creating a public disturbance at nearly two in the morning.

The snort Yokozawa released as he waved him off showed he was thinking exactly the same thing. "Good night, Masamune. See you at the office."

"Yeah," Masamune returned, and watched only long enough to be sure that Yokozawa got to the elevator without passing out before he shut his door again.

It always weighed heavily on him, nights like this spent drinking with his best friend. Not that it wasn't rewarding (Yokozawa never pressed him for company when he knew Masamune had a deadline to meet or an author being intractable for one reason or another) or that he didn't appreciate the man's concern—really, if Yokozawa didn't horn his way in and smash down the barriers Masamune erected to keep his life in manageable pieces, he'd probably never lift his nose from his work. And in return, Yokozawa got the satisfaction of Masamune's continued friendship, some time alone to reminisce or talk about inane topics that neither of them had all that much interest in, anything except work (well, _too_ much about work).

He frowned to himself and stepped back down into the genkan in socked feet, reaching for the handle—but stopped at the last second. What was he doing? Going out into the hall...to do what? Yokozawa was gone, it was 1:54 AM, and everyone in the building was asleep—or had been, as who knew how many people Yokozawa had woken up with the noise he tended to make when he forgot just how loud he could be. Masamune was lucky he only had the one next door neighbor who—

...Right, Onodera. He cracked open the door just a bit, shivering at the slight chill that seeped in; enclosed the building might have been, but the management didn't bother heating the hallways or lobby, and so when the temperatures outside dipped, so did those in the spaces between.

He should apologize, probably. That would be the polite thing to do, right? But since when had he ever cared before about apologizing for Yokozawa being Yokozawa? They'd had plenty of drinking nights before and Masamune had never felt obliged to ring up his neighbor and apologize for being so loud at such an hour.

Except now there was a face to put next to _1202_ , and he knew the body that face was attached to had taken a nasty spill the evening before, and Masamune himself would've been pissed off to have any resulting headache from such a fall compounded by the raucus (even muffled by a wall) laughter Yokozawa was prone to after his second beer of the evening. So it wasn't strange to feel a bit of human compassion, right?

He stepped out into the hall proper now and stared at the door, imposing and foreboding despite itself. It was _two in the morning_ ; if Onodera had been woken by their merry-making, he was probably back asleep now and wouldn't appreciate being woken _again_ by Masamune, even for altruistic reasons. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced down at the base of the door, frowning when he noticed a warm glow just at the space between the bottom of the door and the baseboard. A light.

Onodera was still up. Was still up, or had forgotten to turn off his light. One or the other. But he was an editor, just like Masamune, and he had _definitely_ stayed up later than this before at crunch time, so...it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Onodera was still up, curled up on his couch or something with a sheaf of papers in his lap, fingers stained red with ink as he marked and annotated and commented on his latest project. But if he was busy enough that he had to mark his comments in the dead of night, just how pissed would he be to be interrupted for no discernible reason?

Because really, Masamune had been standing here for going on five minutes now and _could not_ figure out why he wanted to knock on the door, or what he would say in the event that Onodera _did_ open the door. Asking about his leg and apologizing for any noise would take approximately thirty seconds, and then...another awkward goodbye which could be avoided by turning back around and going back into his own apartment right now.

He was a man well in control of his life (now, at least). He'd found some semblance of power, balance, steadiness after a whirlwind youth marred by bickering parents and tedious schoolwork and more emotional turmoil than anyone should have to bear, Yokozawa liked to remind him whenever he got nostalgic. And now that he had more control over where he stood and who he opened himself up to...it was hard to let himself _lose_ any of that control. But things happened, he ran into people in chance encounters, and they struck something in him that wasn't deep or _important_ so much as...annoying. Annoyingly _persistent_. Something that made him pay attention, demanded it, when his thoughts were already spread thinner than was appropriate. He just...needed to follow this _thing_ to its end, whatever that was, and be done with it. Because otherwise he was going to have to move.

He raised a fist and rapped three times in quick succession.

* * *

Ritsu rubbed at his eyes, stinging with fatigue, and blinked a few times to try and get the type in front of him to coalesce into something more legible, but it would not happen. He sighed loudly and tossed the sheaf of papers held together with a clip onto his coffee table, leaning back onto the sofa and massaging his temples. Nights like this made him seriously consider abandoning the grunt work of being an editor for the cushy job that was waiting for him if he ever drummed up the nerve to press his father for a promotion. It probably embarrassed _him_ more than Ritsu, having a son insisting on "slumming it" with the other lay workers instead of using his name and the notoriety that came attached to it to bring the company more respect.

But despite it all, he still found a certain pride in helping to bring to the public eye the same books that he'd spent his youth poring over excitedly, and if it meant pulling an all-nighter or three (several nights in a row at times...) then that was simply the price that had to be paid. He would bear it, just as he'd borne all his hardships up until now. He was through running away from his problems, as the last time he'd done that it'd brought nothing but _more_ pain and frustration, such that it dogged him even now. He would occasionally let his mind wander, let it dream up some fanciful idea of _what might have been_ if he'd made different choices in the past, if he'd defended himself with more vigor or said his piece when prompted—but always he had to force himself to put away such thoughts, for if he dwelled on them for too long...

_Knock knock knock_

Ritsu shot to attention, gaze darting around his apartment—before he realized the sound was someone _knocking on his door_. Even through bleary eyes he could tell that it was definitely nowhere near a decent hour, and that anyone visiting him was not bringing good news. He strained his ears and realized that even Takano-san and his guest had quieted down by now, hardly surprising.

He could...at least check the peep hole. His lock was fastened, so it wasn't as if the person could just barge in, even if they realized Ritsu was up and around, so he should definitely check. What if the landlord needed a description later? He steeled himself and pushed onto his feet, unsteady from fatigue, and padded to the front hallway, still wary when no more knocks came. Maybe they'd given up and gone away? With a nervous swallow, he pressed himself against the door and peeked outside.

...And there stood Takano-san, looking very annoyed—with himself, more than anything it seemed—with his arms crossed and gaze averted. What the hell was he doing knocking on Ritsu's door at two in the morning? Didn't he have any respect for his neighbors' sleep schedules? But well, it wasn't as if Ritsu kept _normal_ hours, and maybe Takano understood this, as a fellow editor. Either way, he wasn't getting any answers here, and it would be rude to blow off Takano-san when he'd been so helpful the evening before.

He unhooked the latch and tentatively pressed the door open, pulling back when Takano peeked his head around. "Good evening?"

"Oh—you _are_ awake..."

Ritsu glanced back into his living room. "I had some drafts to finish checking and didn't notice the time." A lie, but why did Takano need to know that he was a workaholic?

"Ah," Takano responded evenly, nodding, and looked like that had been the only part of the conversation he'd been prepared for. It was comical almost, seeing a man as tall and slick as Takano, who looked like he had everything together, looking...nervous? Or unsure, rather. Like he was trying to keep his composure in an unfamiliar environment. "Good, I—didn't want to wake you up or anything."

Ritsu frowned, glancing over his shoulder—and finding no imposing figures looming over them like a chaperone. "Did you...need something?"

Takano followed his gaze with a quick glance, then turned back to Ritsu. "Oh, no not really—I mean, I...wanted to apologize."

"...For what?"

"Yokozawa. I wasn't expecting him, so we might've been loud, and it's not exactly a good time of the evening to be banging around and all."

Ritsu recalled here that Yokozawa had explicitly said that he'd reminded Takano he'd be coming tonight—but said nothing. If Takano had his reasons for fabricating then it was his prerogative. And _apologizing_? They'd exchanged names barely twenty-four hours ago, but already Ritsu was getting the impression that Takano was not the type to _apologize_ all that often, so what the hell was this? He shrugged ambivalently. "If you were overly loud, I didn't notice."

"Ah..." And then a silence settled between them and Ritsu _panicked_. Was he supposed to say something here? Apologize for the dismissal but say he had to finish his check? Invite Takano in for tea or coffee? Slam the door in his face and write him off as an inconsiderate clod for disturbing someone at this time of night? "So your leg—it's fine now?"

"Eh? Oh." Ritsu held out his leg for inspection, glancing down himself. "My ankle's still a bit sore, and I've got bruises all over, but—I think I'll survive." He darted his gaze back up to Takano, who looked like he wanted to repeat his hands-on inspection from the previous evening but was holding himself back with great effort. "...Thanks. For helping me home. I was lucky you were there to help." And there was his excuse to put them back on equal footing and get rid of this awkward _what do I do now_ feeling. "Oh—I have some tea brewing if you want? It's not much, but it might help repay you for your help?"

Any normal person would've politely declined in light of the late hour, or asked for a rain-check, or reminded Ritsu that _really there's no reason to go out of your way_ , so it should have told Ritsu just what kind of person he was inviting into his house when Takano's brows just lifted—the only sign he was surprised in the least—and he obliged with, "I'm more of a coffee person, but that'll do," and stepped into the genkan past Ritsu.

* * *

Ritsu hastily poured two steaming cups of tea and gestured to his living room, inviting Takano to sit wherever he liked—so of course the man slumped right onto his couch (and in Ritsu's favorite spot, too) and started going through his half-checked manuscript, _hmm_ ing every so often like he was reviewing an underling's work and finding it wanting. "You're Sumi Ryouichi's editor?"

Ritsu nearly dropped the teacups onto his floor, hurrying to set them down on the low table and take a seat on the floor—it was a little forward to just go and sit by Takano in the first place, and now he'd moved to where he was sitting the very middle of the sofa, leaving Ritsu no room to sit there himself without finding his side pressed against the man. "Ah—yeah, for a year now. He's not my only author, but he's one of my favorites—if an editor's allowed to have favorites."

"Of course you're allowed," Takano said, matter-of-factly, and Ritsu wondered what sorts of authors a man like Takano—in a line of work like shoujo manga—might call his favorites. "It's better for everyone if the editor likes his work, anyways." He neatly shuffled the papers and placed them back where he'd found them, reaching for the cup nearest him and bringing it to his lips to cool with a breath. "You been an editor long?"

"Mmm, a few years now, I guess? I studied abroad for most of high school and college—and when I came back to Japan, my family...I guess they wanted me where they could keep an eye on me." Takano cracked a smile at this. "You?"

Takano shrugged. "Same, I guess. I dicked around some in college; it was actually Yokozawa who convinced me to go work at Marukawa."

Ritsu sipped his tea, trying to affect disinterest. "So...you're friends then?"

"Yeah." And if there was anything else to be said about their relationship, Takano didn't feel it necessary to add. The silence settled over them again and stretched for a moment before Ritsu worked the nerve to glance up—and found Takano staring at him. "...I feel like I've met you somewhere before."

Trying not to choke on his tea when he snorted derisively, Ritsu quipped, "Well we kind of live next to each other..." but Takano didn't take to it.

"...No, it's something else."

"We're both editors; it wouldn't be out of the realm of possiblity for us to have passed each other in a bookstore or at the printers' or—even at that library." He swallowed the last bit of his tea with a grimace. "Do you go there often?"

Takano shook his head, concerned frown still marring his features, and Ritsu didn't suspect he'd give up on this until he'd finally gotten to the bottom of it. "Only when I can find the time, really. They've got a lot of out-of-print and rare books there, though—I try to make time now and then."

"Mmm, that they do." He dropped out of seiza, stretching his legs, and leaned onto the small table, a smile playing at his lips as he recalled his days spent in the library. "It's funny, but even years of seeing the inner workings of how books are made, seeing all the nasty business that goes into making them...it hasn't really made me love them any less. I'm glad to be a part of it."

Takano poorly hid a small smile with a sip from his teacup. "Me, too," and Ritsu couldn't for the life of him figure out what that _meant_.

* * *

Life since knowing who lived in 1201 was not much changed from life before it, except for that now Ritsu was utterly _baffled_ as to how he'd missed meeting Takano in the year since he'd moved in, given that he ran into the man at least once a day now it seemed, whether leaving for work or returning, and it felt like once or twice a week Takano would ring his bell or knock on his door with a book to loan or an invitation to watch a movie or even something as simple as offering _omiyage_ he'd received from a visiting author or fellow editor at work back from a business trip. It was...nice, and a little endearing, as he couldn't figure out why Takano was doing all of these things that he obviously found very distasteful. Their "movie nights" were really just _watching_ a movie—no commentary, no conversation, as if Takano had just read in a book how one went about making friends and had absolutely no intuition of his own as to the proper protocol.

Ritsu appreciated the attention, though, befuddling as it was, and went out of his own way to try and make Takano feel a bit more comfortable with the idea. After all, Ritsu couldn't exactly afford to be picky with companions, and someone who shared his line of work and his hobbies, and who lived right next door to him to boot, wasn't the _worst_ candidate, right? And while they may have had an unsteady start (quite literally), over the course of a few weeks they'd gotten...almost close, if you wanted to be liberal.

" _Otsukare_ ~" they chimed together, clinking beer cans together before downing that first, crisp gulp, and Ritsu sighed loudly. "I _hate_ the lead-up to the year's end, though... It's busier than in April!"

"You've got it easy," Takano groused, glaring over the rims of his glasses, and shook a finger at him, narrowly averting spilling his beer all over Ritsu's table and floor. "All lit editors have to worry about is getting the manuscript all checked out; text text text, that's it. Manga editors have all that, _plus_ we've gotta make sure everything's inked, toned, colored, and that all that work is done _well_ before we get to call it a day. If you _really_ wanted a challenge, you should come and work at Marukawa."

Ritsu frowned, taking a sip. "Onodera Shuppan has a first-rate manga department, you know! If I for some reason _lost my mind_ and decided being a manga editor was worth my time, I'd try it there, first." He knew the jab wouldn't be taken as offensive, as they'd lapsed into taking turns at poking fun at one another's genres in the past, with Ritsu brushing off Takano's shoujo manga field as "girls' stuff" and Takano returning the swipe at Ritsu being a "book nerd."

Takano snorted. "I don't mean getting some cushy job at Daddy's firm—I'm talking working for me and the tight ship I run. You'd be _begging_ to slink on back to literature before a whole cycle even ended."

Ritsu rolled his eyes and changed the subject, a bit worried that Takano was telling the truth. "So you'll work all the way through Christmas and up to New Year's?" A nod. "You don't go home or anything? Your family doesn't have a big to-do?" His own family all got together and made mochi—it was a big affair every year and felt for just a bit like his family was just the same as any other, that there was nothing separating him as an Onodera from any other relatively close family.

"Mmm, my parents divorced when I was in high school... They've got their own separate families now, so it's kind of a pain in the ass. We never really plan anything."

"Oh—I'm sorry."

A shrug. "Not a big deal; it was a while back, and I wasn't really in the best place in my life anyways, so it was just another strike I try and forget about. Changed my name and everything."

"Really? Just because your parents divorced?"

Takano nodded, like this sort of thing happened all the time. "My mom got primary custody of me—but I was about to go off to college, so it didn't really matter to me either way. She still made me change my name, though."

Ritsu topped off his can, stifling an unattractive little burp from it. "What was it before?"

Takano grimaced, like he didn't like remembering such things—something Ritsu could understand, as it sounded like a pretty rough time. "Saga. Saga Masamune."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a good thing Ritsu had finished drinking his beer—because by now, it probably would've been decorating his furniture and his guest.

"Wh— _what?_ "

He must have sounded like he just hadn't heard, for there Takano—no, not _Takano_ —sat, peering into the spout of his can as if inspecting its contents, and repeated in that same dull monotone. "Saga. My father's name. My mother changed it back to 'Takano' when they split." He shrugged to himself, seemingly blissfully unaware of the fact that Ritsu was _falling apart_ just across the table. "Never saw reason to change it back; not like it matters all that much anyways."

Not like it matters. Oh but it _did_. It _did_ matter—because that _name_ was the reason that Ritsu was the solitairy, miserable introvert he was today. It was the reason he'd never been able to really open himself up to anyone ever since, it was the reason he'd vowed that—man or woman—he would _never_ fall in love again, because when you did stupid shit like that, _that_ was when people played with you for all they fancied and then kicked you to the curb.

Takano blinked at him stupidly, setting down the can and leaning forward. "Onodera? You okay?"

Okay? He was so _not okay_ it wasn't even funny at this point, and he may have actually let out a dry chuckle at the idea that finding out he was sitting here having a beer with _Saga-sempai_ —had, in fact, been "hanging out" with him in various forms for almost three weeks now. It was _laughable_ , because some higher power or fate or something had deemed that no, Onodera Ritsu, you have _not_ been screwed over enough: here, have the man you've both loved and hated for the past ten years literally on your doorstep.

Takano reached a hand forward, palm away, and moved to press it to his forehead to check for a temperature, but Ritsu slapped it away viciously and scrambled to his feet. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know _how_ to respond to this knowledge; but he very much knew that he was going to be sick if he had to see this man's face one moment more. "Get out. Please get out."

Takano followed him to his feet, offense starting to filter into his worried expression. "Get—what? Onodera?"

"Get _out_ ," he repeated through grit teeth, and toyed with the notion that maybe Takano— _Saga_ —had no idea why he was furious and confused and hurt and so many other emotions all at once he felt like he was going to explode. "I don't feel well." It wasn't entirely a lie, really.

Takano just stood there, staring at him for a moment, and the air grew heavy with tension, sinking and darkening until he finally gave in. "...Sure. I'll drop in later." Like _hell_ he'd be doing that, Ritsu vowed.

* * *

Fate could be quite the cruel bitch at times. No sooner had Ritsu been introduced to this smart, witty, and—despite his abrasive personality—somehow charming person who didn't seem to give a damn about the "Onodera" part of "Onodera Ritsu"...than he was pushing that same man away (far, far away—he needed to start looking for a new place to live now) because _fuck_ why did it have to be Saga-sempai? _Why_?

He could still close his eyes, ten years later, and feel the morning sun on his skin (...or had it been afternoon?), the crisp sheets beneath his body, could still recall that increasingly familiar smell of sweat and sex and _Saga-sempai_. And he could still hear that derisive little snort (how had he _missed_ it, when Takano still unleashed it on him now?) when Ritsu had dared ask if they were really, truly dating. His innocent little heart, held out on a platter and drop-kicked by a cold upperclassman who'd been _bored_.

The more he remembered, the more he dwelled on it now, the more his temper flared and he found himself wanting to rage against the wall between their apartments, kicking and screaming until his throat went raw about all the pain and anger Saga had left him with, how he'd turned into this horrible person who couldn't give himself to anyone anymore because of _him_.

And it wasn't _fair_.

It wasn't fair that ten years later, Saga was a successful editor (Ritsu snorted—sure, of _shoujo manga_ ) with equally successful friends and a stable life, and Ritsu was here. Alone, with no real friends to speak of (how appropriate that _Takano_ had been...really the closest thing he'd had—friend or otherwise—in years) and a job he found more a burden than rewarding most of the time.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? Takano had often complained about his clients and coworkers, even Yokozawa-san, so it didn't seem like he was entirely all that _happy_ with his work or that he was beating off friends or more-than-friends with a stick. His family life sounded worse than anything Ritsu could even imagine; having a fiancee he didn't really want or intend to keep was...annoying. Having no family to speak of whatsoever? It was downright frightening. Even his apartment—sparse and austere and clean to the point of it seeming like all he did was sleep and shower there and that was it.

It all spoke of a man who was just...getting through the day. Getting by in life doing the bare minimum. And maybe he and Ritsu were similar in that respect. Takano seemed so calm on top, but under the surface he was kicking and fighting to stay afloat. Ritsu didn't bear the same grace up top, and his efforts to stay in control were bared for all to see and sneer at.

Ritsu frowned up at the dark ceiling, slowing his breathing in time with the clock ticking at his bedside.

Saga. And Takano. Maybe they were different people. Maybe Takano had shed everything that Saga had stood for with the same effort it took to shed his name. Maybe it wasn't fair to judge this Takano—who'd probably even forgotten that he'd messed around with an underclassman in high school before going off and growing up and becoming cool and suave and beautiful, like Ritsu had known he would—maybe it wasn't fair to hold him accountable for the sins of Saga.

Or maybe Ritsu was just looking for an excuse to _keep seeing him_.

* * *

If Ritsu had thought it hard to be friends with Takano, it was even harder to be _not friends_ with him. Since Takano didn't, as far as Ritsu could tell, seem to have any inkling as to just who Ritsu was or what if any past they'd had together, Ritsu had at first been torn—how to break the news? And why was he worried about "breaking" the news—shouldn't he be delighted to finally be able to let Saga know just how hurt he'd been, without the miasma of _first love_ choking off his resolve? He could never have delivered a thorough tongue-lashing to Saga at fifteen, but ten years later he felt _more_ than up to the task.

So why was his mind filled not with thoughts of how sweet the victory would be at letting Takano—Saga—finally know how he'd felt but rather with an image of realization dawning on Takano's features only to be quickly replaced with remorse and apologies at his lips and begging Ritsu's forgiveness, all-too-believable excuses spilling onto Ritsu's floor as Takano explained that he'd _just been a kid_ , he'd _just been covering up his true feelings_ , something Ritsu worried that, if he were faced with it in reality, he wouldn't be able to accept even if he _wanted_ to, desperately.

But if such problems had to be overcome before Ritsu could drop the bomb, as it were, onto Takano's head...then why not just take the easy route and not tell him at all? He'd cut ties with Saga before, left without a trace—why should it be any more difficult now? They'd survived a year without running into one another, so Ritsu should be able to wrangle the same from here on out. He'd ignore any attempts at contact—and eventually, surely, Takano would get the hint and go back to drinking with Yokozawa-san or his editing team, right?

...He surely hoped so.

* * *

Avoiding Takano was, it turned out, not as easy a task as Ritsu had first thought it might be. Even if he managed to successfully dodge the man physically, carefully timing his morning routine with what he'd learned of Takano's to be out the door a good ten minutes before Takano even slipped on his shoes, there still remained the problem that somewhere along the way he and Takano had exchanged contact information formally, and his cellphone beeped at least once a day now with an incoming call or unread text message. He'd thought about just sending him a curt reply asking him not to text anymore, but decided that would only open the way for more questioning, which he was not prepared to deal with just now.

Eventually, though, the texts came less frequently—he wondered after a week and a half what Takano could be saying in them now—he always dumped them without reading, fearful he might lose his nerve and slip back into the comfort of a crush he'd long ago abandoned—when it had to be painfully clear that Ritsu wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Had he perhaps caught on as to Ritsu's true identity? Was his inbox's trash bin full of unread apologies and entreaties for second chances? Was he just hurting himself more for his stubbornness? Wasn't this the whole reason none of his relationships thus far had ever worked out, why he'd never been able to really give himself over to anyone? Wouldn't it be best to just put an end to this formally, clear the air and go their separate ways?

On the thirteenth day, his problem was solved for him.

"Ricchan~" one of the desk clerks called over the office din, not daring to step fully into the editors' pool at the cycle's peak, "There's a guest here to see you—he's waiting at reception."

Ritsu nodded his thanks and quickly finished his conversation with one of the copy clerks, waving them off, and squeezed out into the hallway headed for reception. He was lucky this cycle in that everything appeared to be on time, with only Kawamura-sensei still left to turn in her manuscript—and it was still three days before the deadline. They might _actually_ have an easy go of it for once, this time, and this thought put a bit of spring in his step and a goofy smile on his face as he rounded the corner—

"Ta— _Takano-san?!_ " The name spilled from his mouth before he had the good sense to duck back behind the divider he'd just rounded, and at this point there was no escaping that hard gaze that immediately shot over and landed square between his eyes, boring holes into him. One of the attendants motioned to an empty meeting room, expecting this to be some sort of editor-client get-together, but Ritsu waved her off with a nervous smile and hastily turned Takano around in place and shoved him out the front door. If they were to have a conversation, there was _no way_ they were having it in the front lobby of Onodera Publishing.

"What the _hell_? This is my workplace! You can't just wander into my _workplace_!"

"Why not?" Takano responded evenly, infuriatingly calm and collected, his hands shoved in his pockets and glasses glinting in the afternoon sun. "I invited you to come to Marukawa, but you never responded. So I came instead." Probably in one of the hundred or so emails it felt like Takano had sent him in the past two weeks. "Worried Daddy will see you fraternizing with the competition?"

"We aren't _competition_ , and I'm not _fraternizing_." Takano ignored him, picking at a nail. "What do you want?" If he came off harsh, then it was merited, he felt. Takano was just being deliberately obtuse now if he didn't realize that Ritsu avoiding him like this for two weeks meant that he didn't want to see him anymore. "I'm not exactly _not busy_ you know; we've got an issue to get to print and—"

That sharp gaze jerked back over him now, and Ritsu found his protests falling silent in his throat, replaced instead by a guilty gulp. The guy wouldn't—punch him or anything, right? Sure, Ritsu was kind of being a jerk and a coward, avoiding him and all efforts to keep in contact but—it wasn't any reason to get physical, was it?

"You..." Ritsu braced himself. "...Did I do something?"

Flinching for a blow that hadn't fallen, Ritsu blinked several times. "...What?"

"You've been avoiding me." Well, at least he wasn't stupid or blind to the obvious. He was just _stubborn_ , a quality Ritsu understood well. "Why?"

"I don't—" He swallowed. "It's complicated." And it was— _very_ complicated. Or maybe Ritsu just made it out to be; after all, wasn't it actually _dreadfully_ simple? _You dumped me and broke my heart, so I never want to be around you ever again_. The end, that's all. Except he couldn't really respond that way, so he just added, leaning back against a pillar and staring at the ground, "I just don't think we should hang out any more."

Takano leaned over him, bracing one arm against the pillar and making Ritsu realize just how much he'd grown since high school when Ritsu _hadn't_ really. "That doesn't answer _why_."

Of course it didn't; that was the _point_. Ritsu pushed him out of the way, just shy of shoving, and headed back for the main entrance. "Please don't come here anymore."

He heard Takano start stomping after him. "I wouldn't have to if you'd give us five minutes to talk."

Ritsu wanted to laugh—because _yeah_ , ten years of frustration and anger could be cleared up in five minutes. "I don't have time—I've got to prepare for a meeting. Sorry." And truthfully, he _did_ feel a little sorry; it wasn't Takano's fault Ritsu was acting like this, not the way he'd unconsciously reconciled in his mind that _Takano_ and _Saga-sempai_ were different people. Because really, when you thought about it—they _were_.

Saga-sempai had been so quiet, unemotional, closed off, yet he'd still managed to not only capture Ritsu's attentions but his affections as well, for while he couldn't quite explain it, Ritsu had been so very attracted to his quiet sempai on every level. The gentleness he showed when he thought he was alone, the focus he applied to even the most outrageous of books (and Ritsu knew full well he had some eclectic tastes), the even manner with which he comported himself, letting everything wash over him and brushing it off like a fine coat of dust. It was also so foreign to Ritsu, but all the more enrapturing for that reason.

Takano was...Takano. Sharp and biting and one to never hide his true feelings, no matter how they might hurt or offend. But he still retained a sense of humor (a dark one, albeit) and a stronger drive to _accomplish_ than Ritsu had seen in a very long time. When Takano set his mind to something—like befriending a next-door neighbor—he met it with the full force of his will, even if he wasn't very good at it (a fact which only served to endear him all the more to Ritsu).

Wait, _endear_? Well—since Ritsu was arguing with himself at this point—it wasn't _surprising_ really. None of the attraction he'd felt for Saga-sempai was lost with Takano, to be sure, it was only...momentarily misplaced, and if Ritsu ever let himself sit down and address that fact, he probably would find interacting with the man he'd lost his virginity to (in _so_ many respects) more than a bit uncomfortable. And while it had felt lilke the infatuation was merely one-sided in the past, with Saga-sempai simply indulging a cute little kouhai, he had genuinely felt that he and Takano had been...getting along, connecting, being _friends_. So was it so wrong of him to think, retrospectively, that he might have been able to feel something more for Takano than simply platonic, neighborly feelings, especially given that hell, he'd _already done it once before_?

He could feel Takano's annoyance rising. "Then give me time later. After work."

Ritsu brushed him off again. "I'm going straight home—I'll be working round the clock for the next few days." A lie, as he had a relatively light schedule this cycle, but at least a believable one.

"Then let me see you there." _God_ this man was persistent; how had their roles been reversed now in that Takano was the one clinging to Ritsu (all right, perhaps not _clinging_...) while Ritsu himself shrugged him off? If it had been anyone else, Ritsu might have enjoyed the power struggle; he'd never really been _pursued_ , not in the way Takano seemed to seek him out now. 

Then the thought suddenly struck Ritsu that...maybe Takano _wouldn't_ give up; would exert all his stubborn energies in wearing Ritsu down until he finally complied or pushed him away for good with the revelation of their previous relationship, an action Ritsu genuinely did not want to take for reasons he didn't entirely want to own up to. Takano would show up in Onodera Publishing's lobby (didn't he have his _own_ work to take care of?), flirt with the girls at reception until they agreed to call down Ritsu again, chat up any and all who passed him by with the story that he was waiting on Onodera Ritsu-san because they had a _very_ important meeting.

Ritsu hunched his shoulders; somehow or another, Saga-sempai _always_ managed to ruin any relationship he was in... This friendship with Takano was no exception. "I probably won't be home until the last train."

"I'll wait for you." And of course he would; whether he'd known it or not, Ritsu'd been keeping him waiting for _years_ now, and yet here he was again.

* * *

Masamune was exceptionally grateful that Yokozawa was in Kyuushuu on business, because if he'd been anywhere Masamune could be sure he wasn't being disturbed by having his cell phone ring, he probably would've called the guy to complain about whatever the hell was going on in Onodera's head. Really, he didn't want to complain about someone like Onodera to _Yokozawa_ , because their friendship wasn't _like that_ in that they discussed this sort of thing ( _what_ sort of thing?), but Yokozawa was all he had. And Masamune needed to talk to _someone_.

Because he'd finally started to feel a little more balanced again, a little settled down, since he and Onodera had slipped into this sort of give and take almost-friendship where they conversed and _chatted_ even, about all manner of things great and small. Not even just work, but hobbies (which came down to books, again) and their histories, and while it was still too early to broach some topics (Onodera always skirted around any mention of previous relationships—which was fine with Masamune, too) they got along, they _clicked_ in a way Masamune wasn't used to—which meant he probably came off as utterly inexperienced and unfamiliar with how one went about "being friends".

But Onodera didn't seem to mind it so much, as he kept responding to emails and inviting Masamune over for after-work drinks, laughing at his jokes and returning his jabs with fervor and an easy familiarity that Masamune found startlingly attractive—in a way he hadn't felt for a _long_ time. It was different from how it had been with Yokozawa, with his friend forcibly jerking him out of his slump and giving him an outlet for all the frustration and disappointment that came with the knowledge that the shy little kouhai who had inexplicably worked himself under Masamune's skin had never been nearly as serious as Masamune himself. He could barely even remember the kid's face, much less his name—only his smile and that he'd worn a perpetual blush around Masamune, an outward symbol of his poorly-concealed infatuation. _Infatuation_.

No, with Onodera it was more like...a curiosity, a question that Masamune desperately wanted to know the answer to. Why did he feel so comfortable around Onodera when he couldn't even get along with his own parents or coworkers? Why did he feel like he and Onodera had met somewhere before, in some previous life maybe, such that all the barriers Masamune typically erected to keep people at a safe distance willingly bowed to Onodera's presence? Why after years of never being able to open himself up to anyone—total strangers or even someone as close as Yokozawa—was he dogging Onodera's footsteps of his own accord?

And then...just when he'd started to get an inkling of what the answers to those questions were, when he started to recognize with dawning clarity, Onodera had _snapped_ , snapped and run away and cut all ties, and all Masamune could think with sick, derisive laughter was _'Again?'_

Ten years, and he still couldn't wade two steps into any relationship, couldn't even _start_ to think of taking a deeper stride when by some action or another he found himself abandoned again. Maybe they couldn't wait for his fervor to warm, maybe they were turned off by his disinterest which he only affected because he longed to be really _wanted_ again, maybe they just knew that they couldn't be what he wanted most of all. And Masamune at that point had never had any drive to try and correct that misconception, so the connection had just died, and both parties had moved on. He wouldn't have blamed Yokozawa for doing the same, but he was grateful daily that he had stuck around.

But this time around...he didn't want it to go that way; he didn't want to just let Onodera run off, frightened by some spectre Masamune couldn't fathom. Maybe he'd grown annoyed with Masamune's awkward attempts at strengthening an only tentative friendship, maybe he'd sensed that Masamune may have been harboring otherwise impure intentions and had nipped things in the bud. Whatever the reason, Masamune had resolved to hear the truth of the matter from his _friend_ , from Onodera himself before accepting this distance the man seemed bound and determined to place between them. For once he was going to actually dig in his heels and _fix this_. Whether Onodera liked it or not.


	5. Chapter 5

Ritsu shivered inside his coat, chilled to the bone now that winter had draped itself over the Kantou region in full force. While they'd managed to avoid snow thus far, it didn't stop the temperatures from dipping into the single digits and below on nights like this, and the thought of what was waiting for him back at his apartment was doing little to hurry his steps along.

Why had he agreed? Had his agreement even _meant_ anything? Takano-san, if he wanted, could've just camped outside Ritsu's door anyways, whether Ritsu wanted him to or not—and the guy was crazy enough to actually do it, sitting in the freezing hallway waiting for Ritsu to step off the elevator into his carefully laid snare.

Instead, Ritsu was willingly walking into his trap, willingly setting himself up for a conversation he desperately did not want to have. He didn't want to worry about _Takano-san_ or _Saga-sempai_ or any combination of the two, he just...wanted _peace_. He wanted some semblance of normalcy, some control over who he saw, how they interacted, when and where they took their relationship beyond anything more than neighbors and tentative friends. As things stood...he had none of those things. All he had was Takano-san, leaning nonchalantly against the bit of wall separating their doors and checking his cellphone, probably scaring the other residents since likely no one but Ritsu recognized him as the imposing but relatively harmless resident of 1201.

He snapped his cellphone shut with a quick flick of his wrist and jerked his gaze over to Ritsu when the elevator doors opened, and Ritsu wondered offhandedly if he'd been reacting like that to everyone who'd gotten off at this floor for the past few hours. Had Takano-san come here after he'd finished work? Had he left work undone, just because he wanted to be home to catch Ritsu and make sure he didn't try to renege on their agreement? Had he even gone back to work _period_ , or had he been camped out here all day? And was Ritsu _out of his mind_ to assume that talking to him was really _that_ important to Takano, a self-professed workaholic?

Takano shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing off the wall and moving to stand directly in Ritsu's path, just staring down at him. It wasn't an accusing stare, it wasn't even a disappointed stare, but Ritsu still felt obliged to offer by way of explanation, "My meetings ran later than I thought. I still made it before the last train, though."

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well," Ritsu reasoned, then brushed past Takano, pulling his keyring from his pocket and trying to get his hands, trembling with nerves and cold, to properly fit his key into the slot. "You didn't have to wait out here."

"I wanted to meet you."

The key finally caught in the lock, and Ritsu hastily turned it, refusing to face Takano with the flush on his cheeks he was certainly had formed when Takano spoke so _familiarly_ to him, like Ritsu hadn't been behaving like an utter jerk and that Takano didn't have every right to be short and angry with him. He yanked open the door, shuffling inside, and had one shoe off and the other halfway there in the genkan before he glanced over his shoulder, face half-hidden by the fake fur-lined ruffle of his hood, and invited Takano in. "You'll let the cold in, so hurry up and shut the door. The insulation sucks in this building and I'm not turning my heater on til it's snowing outside." A lie; he was cold-blooded by nature and generally turned his little floor heater on whenever he could—but maybe this way he could freeze out Takano-san, get him to make a beeline for his own apartment before this whole mess got underway.

Takano just cocked a little smile and stepped inside, easily slipping off his shoes and lining them up neatly next to Ritsu's. God, even the way he entered a home was elegant, the bastard. Always cool and calm and collected while Ritsu sat here stewing inside.

Ritsu directed him towards his living room, and Takano strode confidently over to the spot on the couch that he'd taken a liking to ever since the first time he'd entered the apartment; Ritsu hated that he now thought of it as _Takano-san's spot_ , especially given the memories that would forevermore be associated with it from here on out. Maybe he should get a new sofa.

He busied himself in the kitchen, taking down two of the few clean mugs he still had—it was hard to keep a clean house when things got down to the wire as it was, and even harder when Ritsu was in as dark a mood as he had been for the past couple of weeks. Pouring a few cupfuls into the water heater, his eye landed on the two-thirds-full jar of instant coffee grounds; somehow, it had wound up in his grocery basket the day after Takano had taken to making himself a more visible part of Ritsu's life, and while he'd never said anything one way or another the first time Ritsu served him a mug of the stuff, praying he'd made it neither too strong nor too weak, he'd failed to hide the appreciative little smile that had made its way to his lips before he covered it with a sip of the brew.

Frown deepening at the memory, Ritsu dug into the coffee grounds with a vengeance and prepped two mug-fulls, leaving them on the counter to wait while the water heated while he returned to the living room. "The water's heating," he explained unnecessarily, for it was not only obvious what he'd been doing, but Takano also clearly didn't expect to be catered to in this manner, from his expression. Ritsu ignored him and slipped to his knees, keeping his gaze trained on the faded wood grain of his coffee table and waiting for Takano to break the silence. When a few agonizing minutes passed with nothing, only the sputtering wheeze of the hotpot floating in from the kitchen, Ritsu balled his hands into fists at his thighs. "So? You wanted something?"

Takano took his precious time in responding. "Did you lose your cell phone?"

Ritsu glanced up, blinking stupidly. That wasn't where he'd expected this to start. "...Huh?"

"Your cellphone." Takano nodded to the bag on the table. "Did you lose it?"

Ritsu stared at the bag himself, as if not quite sure—perhaps he _had_ lost it and just didn't realize it? "I don't...think so?"

"Then does it no longer hold a charge?" _What_? "Or—is the reception bad here and at Onodera Publishing? Or does the lit department prohibit non-work-related conversations during crunch time?" Oh. "Because I'm trying to think of what might have—"

"You've made your point," Ritsu ground out, face flushing now from shame at being called out. He really _did_ sound like a jerk, passive aggressively getting back at Takano-san, punishing him for a crime he didn't even know he'd committed. "...And no, my cell phone's not broken, and the reception is fine."

The water heater beeped its completion just as Takano asked, "Then why have you been avoiding me?" and Ritsu sprang to his feet like a gazelle, scrambling into the kitchen as if the question were about to physically run him down. He deliberately slowed his movements once around the corner, taking his time to pump the mugs full of steaming water, letting the aroma of the (relatively) fresh coffee permeate the space. He hadn't been much of a fan of the black stuff—that was more Takano's taste—but the smell was gaining a new association, a pleasant familiarity given that he now tended to brew it (or _had_ done so) when Takano was over. He gingerly stepped back into the den, steaming mugs in each hand, and set them on the table between them. Pretending he hadn't heard Takano's question, Ritsu brought his own to his lips and began blowing cool air over the surface, breathing in deep and trying his best to separate the scent from the man before him.

"You never used to drink coffee."

Ritsu frowned; what did Takano know about what Ritsu used to do? He clenched one hand tighter around the handle, knuckles going white. "It's only polite to stock something I know a guest will like if they've made their preferences known." There, that was safe enough. _Polite_. Ritsu was only being polite, just as he'd been raised.

Takano _hmm_ ed softly, patronizing him, but let the matter drop and took a tentative sip, grimacing at—Ritsu hoped—the temperature. He stared down at the dark liquid, hoping it would give him some advice on how to handle Takano-san, but no such luck.

"So...I've asked you twice now, and you still won't answer me. Which I guess means you probably never will unless I make you angry—angri _er_ than you are at me for whatever reason, at least." Ritsu froze at the way Takano saw right through him. "...And I guess it's fine. I don't really need to know."

But where Ritsu's shoulders should have slumped in relief at Takano loosening his bite, giving Ritsu a pass, instead his stomach turned with a sick feeling, and he realized...he didn't really _want_ to be let go like that. Not when it meant Takano turning him loose with the same blase disinterest as he afforded everyone else he lost patience with. Regardless of their past, he was again someone _special_ to Takano, to Saga-sempai. He had a chance to start over again, even when part of him was revolted at the idea—he could pack down this knowledge into a tiny little ball and push it into the back of his mind, _forget it_ , and just...start fresh. But—not if Takano was _bored_ with him, not if he was through trying.

Ritsu was finally going to get what he wanted: Takano to leave him alone.

"I'm saying—I don't care what your reasons are." Ritsu's world came back into focus, and he realized that Takano was leaning over the table, hands steadying himself, dark eyes boring into Ritsu's own. "You've got some hang-up with me, fine. Or I did something to offend you—it's certainly possible. Whatever it is, though, I'm— _sorry_. And—just—" He half covered his face with one palm, and Ritsu knew deep inside he was having his own personal war: the proud Takano who jerked Ritsu along and believed that if he wanted a friendship to work, Ritsu would do his best to keep up; and the vulnerable Takano who _laughed_ when they were together and made inappropriate comments about his coworkers and poked fun at Ritsu for being a 'book nerd'. "I like spending time with you, we—were good together, I thought. And if I've done anything..." He swallowed. "I'm not very good at this 'being friends' thing, and so I've probably stuck my foot in my mouth somewhere or said something insensitive and came off like an asshole, so if you just..."

God, Saga-sempai begging to be friends with the scrawny little kouhai who'd have _died_ to even just be in his presence.

When Takano licked his lips, groping for words, Ritsu couldn't stand to see the man bring himself any lower and brushed his fingers through his hair, settling into an uncomfortable lopsided position on the floor, one knee pulled to his chest and staring off to the side into space. "You didn't—do anything. So you don't have to apologize." He ground the last bit out slowly, being sure Takano heard him clearly. "I've just been...having a bad couple of weeks, and I wasn't feeling well... I took it out on you; I'm sorry."

He could _hear_ Takano blinking at him, gauging his reaction, the cogs whirring in his mind as he tried to process this turn of events. "...I really...didn't do anything to offend you?"

"I said 'no,' didn't I?" Ritsu snapped, and prayed Takano knew him well enough by now to understand that the prickly spines he erected to scare off others were only for show.

A long pause. "...That you did." But he was smiling as he said it.

* * *

If Ritsu had given himself time enough to think about the mess he'd just enveloped himself in, head to toe, he'd probably have had second thoughts, but instead he just threw himself bodily into work and kept his mind from wandering any time he found himself alone with Takano-san.

"Takano-san," and not "Saga-sempai," because it was just better for everyone if he stopped getting so hung up on names and just started appreciating what was before him for the precious gift it was. He knew he didn't have forever; sooner or later, the guilt was going to eat him through and he'd find himself confessing all that he knew, or Takano-san would look at him one day, catch him in the right light, from just the right angle, and the whole thing would come back to him, sending their newly reformed friendship crashing down on their heads. So he took every moment they had together and drew it out, long and sweet, and savored it.

He texted Takano bad puns he heard from the custodian, Takano mailed back a blurry picture that he claimed was Usami Akihiko exiting the lobby with one of the boys' love department editors and tried to convince him Akikawa Yayoi was a penname for Usami-sensei to live out his pornographic fantasies under. He had an advance copy of Sumi-sensei's latest novel sent to Marukawa by bike-post, autographed and everything, and Takano made a man with a Marukawa ID badge ('Hatori'-san? He looked _quite_ put out about being placed on the errand) hand-deliver a volume of Yoshikawa Chiharu's latest (and racy, for shoujo manga even) new series. He invited Takano over to finish off the last of the new year's mochi, and Takano promptly got sick in his bathroom from eating too much. They had...well, not the best give-and-take relationship, but a steady one, it seemed.

So of course, it couldn't last long.

* * *

Saeki-san glanced around them, frowning at the crowd. "I really don't think we're gonna find a seat here, Onodera-kun... This place is packed!"

Ritsu ignored his friend's complaining, guiding her forward with a hand at her waist and waving his greeting. "We're meeting someone—it's fine. Takano-san!"

Saeki-san immediately whirled around and clung fast, her beautifully manicured but quite _sharp_ nails digging into his bicep with all the rage of a woman betrayed. "You— _what_?!" she shrieked, voice going high and desperate, and she cast about like she'd just been thrown into the middle of a pack of wolves.

Ritsu laughed at the reaction, trying to cover up the grimace of pain, and continued to press her forward through the maze of benches and tables and waitresses running food back and forth to the carousing patrons, headed for a small table in the corner that he'd had Takano-san reserve ahead of time. "You _said_ you wanted to get to know him, right? Something about eyes meeting across a genkan or table or something or other?" She tried to elbow him, but without much force, and he easily avoided it. "It's just a drink after work between editors; _come on_."

She eventually loosened her death grip fully to try and make herself presentable, tucking strands of hair behind her ear and muttering to herself in what Ritsu assumed must be a pep-talk of some sort. It was amusing, really; Saeki-san was an excitable woman, sure, and Takano-san was imposing to say the least, especially with first impressions, but he'd never seen her get this riled up over a simple introduction and after-work drink. Either she was really that intimidated by him, or Takano-san was _really_ that good at his job; there was also no discounting that it was a bit of both.

"Sorry we're late—they were running at 90% capacity on the Hanzomon this direction for some reason. We had to catch a later train than we intended."

Takano just shrugged and pushed the whiskey sour he'd ordered for Ritsu in his direction, turning his attention while he did so to Saeki-san. "Onodera's mentioned you wanted to meet me."

This sent all the blood in Saeki-san's body rushing to her face, and she scrambled to recover, babbling in a nearly unintelligible stream that no, she'd never said anything of the sort, although she may have mentioned that it'd be a great opportunity to meet as talented an editor as Takano-san, and she was always impressed with people so young (not that Takano-san was super young or anything! And not that he was really old either!) being so good at their jobs, and really it was more of a business interest, and their companies had a healthy competition going so of course it was expected to be a little curious, not that she was snooping or spying or anything, honestly!

By the time she quieted down, the waitress had arrived to take their order and left, unfulfilled, twice—but the third time around Ritsu managed to hold Saeki-san back from placing both feet firmly in her mouth long enough to place a drink order and call for a basket of edamame.

Takano, for all it was worth, was an utter gentleman and absolutely _charming_ with Saeki-san; Ritsu teetered throughout the evening between being impressed at his conversation skills and tamping down the beginnings of what he strongly suspected was a tiny hint of _jealousy_. No no no, that was _definitely_ the kind of thing that didn't belong at this table—especially not with Saeki-san and Takano-san. He'd set up this whole meeting himself, what was he doing brooding by himself over Takano behaving exactly how he'd hoped he would? It was _Takano-san_ , not Saga-sempai (and even if he _did_ allow that they were the same person, Takano-san didn't _know_ that he was Saga-sempai, for one, and it was _far_ from Ritsu's right to be jealous either way).

Luckily, though, as the minutes ticked by and the mugs and shot glasses built up, the twinge of jealousy waned, and Ritsu mellowed out, more amused by the fact that Saeki-san, who'd spent the first five minutes talking herself hoarse about all manner of inane topics, had now launched into her fifth diatribe on _why can't mangaka keep their fucking deadlines?! Is it in their DNA to break them or something—is it a genetic defect or something?! HUH?_ and while Takano-san seemed to be navigating her outrage like a master sailor, Ritsu was about ready to call it an evening.

It took the both of them to wrangle Saeki-san free from their little booth—more because Ritsu himself wasn't as steady on his feet as he'd have liked to have been—but eventually they hailed a taxi and helped her inside, apologizing to the driver while Ritsu wished her a good evening. She crooked a finger and pulled him close when he obliged, imparting in a stage whisper, _"Takano-san's pretty easy on the eyes for a guy who reads shoujo manga all day~"_ and cackled to herself as the door shut behind her.

"Thanks for doing that," Ritsu allowed once they were safe within the confines of the elevator back at the apartment complex. The car was stuffy, and the air hung heavy between them, but it was a pleasant closeness that he basked in, blood still running hot from the booze and carousing. He'd had a good time with friends, his first in a _long_ time, and he wondered when they might the three of them get together again, since they'd obviously gotten along quite well, especially after the first few rounds. "She's been wanting to meet you for a while."

Takano gave a short, dry chuckle, shifting on his feet so that their shoulders brushed when he took in a breath. Ritsu didn't bother moving over, even though there was plenty of room in the car. What was a little more warmth, between friends? "It was nice; I was glad to go out with you." His lips curled up at their corners in a half-smile as he added, "But you're not a very good drunk, you know."

Ritsu leaned to the side abruptly, shoving Takano into the wall with a grunt. "I don't wanna hear that from the guy who held his liquor better than either of his drinking buddies, got it?"

"Right right~" Takano agreed evenly in that frustrating tone he always took when he knew he was right and Ritsu was being ridiculous and neither of them were going to press the matter further. The elevator dinged softly when they reached their floor, letting them spill out into the chilly hallway, and Ritsu's nose burned with the cold air flowing into his nostrils. He bumped into Takano accidentally, their legs nearly tripping one another up, and Takano brought an arm up around his shoulder, holding him steady while they continued the few more meters to their respective front doors. "Easy there, almost home."

Ritsu could hear his heart beating in his ears, his skin—flushed from the alcohol—burning hotter even under the layers of clothes where Takano's fingers pressed into his shoulder. His legs grew weak and sluggish, trying to unconsciously drag the moment out longer, draw out the time between now and when they parted ways. All too soon, though, the touch faded and Takano pulled away, and Ritsu turned his body, trying to follow the touch that pulled just out of his reach, until he found his back flat against the cool metal of the door, staring up at Takano who was staring right back down at him.

Somewhere in the building, a washer sounded the end of its cycle, someone had their television on too loud, and someone's kid had just started bawling. It was past midnight on a Thursday evening. And Takano Masamune—Saga Masamune—was staring down at him with that expression on his face that Ritsu had _never_ been able to decipher, a blank canvas that could have meant anything and everything Ritsu both hoped and feared it to be. It frightened him, because he couldn't understand it, couldn't predict what would follow it—he had to just open himself up to the possibilities and pray that Takano at least knew what he was doing.

Which was why, when Takano leaned in and pressed his lips to Ritsu's ( _dry and warm_ ), he didn't move a muscle—he didn't respond, didn't close his eyes, only held his breath and waited to see what Takano's expression told him to do next. And when Takano pulled back and looked—a little pained, a little desperate, a little scared, a little like he had no clue what he'd just done, that was when Ritsu realized _oh, well that's fine too_ , and lifted his head just the tiniest bit from the wall to meet Takano's lips again when he leaned down again, more hesitant this time.

Looking back, Ritsu wouldn't understand how he'd managed it, but he didn't think about Saga-sempai _once_ in the hallway. He didn't think about Saga-sempai when Takano brushed his hands down Ritsu's arms and grabbed his wrists, holding them against the wall as he covered Ritsu's body with his own, their lips sliding together with fervor gentled by the newness of the touch for now, but with building intensity. He could feel Takano's hands, his fingers moving now to slide along his coat, seeking out pockets and crevices to slip inside and get just that little bit closer to touching raw skin, and Ritsu muffled a sharp grunt into Takano's mouth when one leg pressed between his own and brushed their hips together. Even through three layers of thick fabric, it felt _amazing_.

Lips swollen and bright red from kissing, Ritsu turned his head just to the side to escape Takano's questing kisses, and he managed the one lucid thought he would be allowed that evening: "We can't...in the hallway..."

Takano pressed a line of hot kisses down his cheek and neckline, suckling just above the collar of his turtleneck (oh _why_ had Ritsu thought that was an acceptable piece of clothing?) and laving a wet line back up to his ear, hot breath falling over his ear. "Door number 1...or door number 2?" And if Ritsu hadn't been more turned on after a few kisses and some necking than he was willing to admit as a man well past his teens, he might have laughed, but instead he only managed a nervous chuckle as his mind, panicked, flashed through memories of the dirty laundry piled up by his bed, the dirty dishes on his bedside table, and possibly most importantly: the complete and utter lack of anything resembling a prophylactic or lubricant. Takano-san seemed to read his mind, or took his concern for hesitation, and he pressed a kiss just below Ritsu's ear, sliding one free hand down to intertwine their fingers and pull him off the wall towards 1201, effectively ending the conversation.

Once inside, they went about the relatively mundane task of removing their outerwear, and if one hadn't known better, it might be assumed they were just coming in to settle down for a nightcap before trundling off to their respective beds. Such misconceptions were blown away, though, when Takano calmly hung up Ritsu's coat next to his own, straightened their shoes, and then backed Ritsu against the fridge-and-microwave set, pressing their lips together again with both hands against the back of his head, long fingers threading through his hair and massaging hypnotic little circles into his scalp. Ritsu let his mouth fall open, ostensibly to remind Takano that this was still just the kitchen, that he knew Takano had a nice bed just through the living room area, and that he'd really rather be doing this in a warm, dark bedroom than under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights—but all that came out was a desperate little cry when Takano thrust his tongue inside and deepened the kiss, hands sliding down Ritsu's body and pulling him close, backing them up through the kitchen and towards that bedroom Ritsu had been wondering about.

Takano whirled them around, pressing Ritsu down onto the bed before backing up and stripping off his long, thin workshirt painfully slowly, the fabric peeling away from his skin like wrapping from a present, and Ritsu swallowed hard when Takano dropped the crumpled ball of fabric to the floor with a soft _whump_. "Lift up," he commanded softly, tugging at the fabric at Ritsu's shoulders, and Ritsu complied without a word, arms going straight up like he'd just had a knife turned on him. Takano's fingers dragged up his sides as he pulled off the shirt, leaving—Ritsu was sure—long, red tracks in their wake where they burned his skin like brands.

Following the shirts, their pants came relatively quickly, with the two shuffling out of the garments with little affair—there really wasn't that sexy a way to take off one's pants, and at this point, Ritsu didn't really _care_. Anything to facilitate more touching of bare skin was fine by him, and he didn't need a striptease to be convinced so by now. His mind was buzzing, neurons firing in a panicked frenzy when Takano pressed forward, one knee up on the bed and forcing Ritsu to scoot backwards, leaning down and back onto his elbows while Takano perched over him on all fours and pressed a hesitant kiss to his lips. "I want to touch you." And Ritsu wondered, immediately, why he was asking permission when they'd been kissing and touching each other for the past five minutes or so now, but then he felt fingers ghosting over his cock through his briefs and realized what Takano was really asking. "You can touch me, too..."

God, it had...been _ages_ since he'd done this. Since he'd been touched by anyone other than himself in the dead of night or in a morning shower, the remnants of such an activity washing away down the drain and leaving him not refreshed but guilty. He let his legs fall open a bit wider, avoiding offering a spoken invitation because, Takano or not, there were some things he was _never_ going to be able to ask for; luckily, Takano seemed to possess the uncanny ability to know exactly what he was doing a horrible job of saying, and he ran a finger under the elastic hem, snapping it softly against the soft skin of Ritsu's stomach before dipping his fingers inside and curling them around Ritsu's shaft. He just held it, didn't do anything, for what felt like the longest time, watching Ritsu's reactions as he tried desperately to regain control of himself— _fuck_ just the simple act of touching, holding, was undoing him. It was embarrassing.

Ritsu reached forward with trembling fingers, first just carressing the semi-hard outline starting to press against the confines of Takano's boxers, and then reaching down, cupping his balls through the fabric and dragging his fingers slowly, up along the gentle curve of the shaft, until he reached the hem and tugged them down just far enough to slip his hand inside. Takano's hips jerked at the first contact of skin on skin, and Ritsu gasped—not from passion but surprise. Takano liked to pretend he was always in control...but now he was in danger of being broken into just as many pieces as Ritsu was.

Takano shifted his weight more onto his knees and swiped a finger over Ritsu's tip, smearing some of the liquid that had started to collect there the moment Takano had brought up the prospect of _touching_ , and Ritsu's hips canted upward with a jerking shudder as he let out a soft, strangled cry. In retaliation, he whipped his hand out of Takano's boxers, ignored the look of confused disappointment, and laved a thick path of saliva from the center of his palm to the tips of his fingers, shoving his hand back in and giving a few experimental tugs. The disappointed confusion was _quickly_ replaced with Takano biting his lip and grunting, shoving Ritsu down flat on his back and attacking his mouth with renewed fervor. "Keep doing that, god keep doing that..." he urged, continuing to slick his hand along Ritsu's shaft with short, quick strokes and compounding Ritsu's own efforts with canting hips.

Ritsu could feel something, tight and familiar, coiling below his belly, contracting and expanding under Takano's touch, and it was almost disappointing—they'd only just started; he didn't want this to end so soon, didn't want to have to face the consequences of this already, just wanted to sit here and have the world reduce down to nothing but dark and warm and that familiar scent of sex and sweat and _Saga-sempai_. He stilled his hand on Takano, gentling his quick, rough jerks to lazy strokes, and turned his head to the side to get a breath. "I can't—I'm—"

"It's fine," Takano assured him, voice rough with desire, and even in the dark, the only light that filtering in from the kitchen, Ritsu could feel Takano smile against his lips in cool confidence. "We've got all night."

And while that may have been true (forgetting the fact that they both had work the next morning—and long, grueling days at that), Ritsu somewhere deep down didn't want _this_ to be how it went, not this time, not this _second_ first time, and he pulled back from Takano's searching kisses. " _More_." And after a quick double-take of disbelief (Takano probably wasn't used to his lovers telling him how they wanted things in bed; he probably just was _amazing_ and they all accepted it, glad to have his attentions whichever way), Takano shifted back onto just his knees, squirming out of his boxers while Ritsu did the same and reaching into the top drawer of his night stand, pulling out an unlabeled bottle of a clear, semi-viscous liquid and an unopened condom.

He tossed them both into Ritsu's lap, snorting as he struggled to catch them, and leaned forward again, pressing kisses up to Ritsu's ear before whispering, "Put them on me."

Ritsu flushed bright enough to light the dim room, but grudgingly did as he was told. "You're the one getting lucky tonight; you should be doing this yourself," he grunted sourly. 

Takano just smiled that easy smile. "Don't worry; I'll return the favor when you're done with me," and if Ritsu hadn't already been hard to the point of pain by now, he would've popped at the implication. His sweaty, trembling fingers found difficulty at first in getting purchase on the condom packaging. He eventually tore into it, though, and gently rolled it onto Takano's waiting cock, trying his best not to touch anything—for both their sakes. Once satisfied with his work, with a quick glance up at Takano to see if he had any objections, he squeezed a dollop of the lubricant into his palm and repeated his slow, teasing workout from before, taking silent joy in reducing Takano in this manner to little more than a quivering mess. _Book nerd_ , his ass.

After a few more experimental strokes, though, Takano had reached his limit it seemed and brushed Ritsu's hand away with a frown and a strained, "Enough," tone rough but with an underlying desperation that Ritsu understood and complied with, flopping onto his back and letting his legs prop open just wider than was decent. Takano took a deep breath and reached for the discarded bottle, chuckling at Ritsu's display of nerves _now_ of all times, and used one knee and one hand to press his legs wider open, prompting Ritsu to glance away with a frown. "Chicken."

"Just hurry it up."

"Got a hot date?" And he pressed one lubricated finger inside, taking the opportunity to catch Ritsu unawares. Ritsu's response died a swift death in his throat, and he took in a loud breath, knees locking Takano between them. "Calm down..."

"Easy for you to say from that position," Ritsu choked out, but did his best to do as Takano advised, reminding himself it was worth it, to be like this with Takano, to be held like this by Takano.

"Mmm, you think I've never been in your place before?" And when Ritsu jerked his head around to glare in disbelief, Takano added another finger. Ritsu stopped arguing here, focusing instead on opening himself up, body and soul, to this man here and now, and by the time Takano had stretched him with a third, Ritsu was about through waiting, fingers tugging at Takano's shoulders, urging him forward, inside, above and around him.

The tight burn of being stretched by something thicker, longer than any of Takano's fingers was a welcome pain, familiarity prickling in the pit of his stomach as Takano pressed inside, slowly but steadily, silently begging Ritsu to accept him ( _again_ ), let him in. And then he was inside, smooth hips pressed against Ritsu's own, and pulling back out just as slowly and steadily, before Ritsu wondered—feared—that he was pulling out entirely and _dammit_ no, not yet, he needed to finish this, he _needed_ this to happen, needed Takano to claim this place inside him as his own because otherwise he was never going to be able to get rid of the ugly stain of _Saga-sempai_.

But Takano read his mind again, like any of those weird books with crazy themes, turning a page and seeing just what Ritsu wanted as clearly as if it had been printed in smooth, black lettering, and he was pressing back inside with more fervor now, holding back less and sliding in with more force, back out but at a shallower angle, and in again with more force, pushing Ritsu back, up the bed, covers bunching underneath him.

The thrusts were coming quicker, sharper now, and Ritsu let himself curl against the covers, head thrown back in abandon as Takano—Saga-sempai—pressed into him, pounded into him with ruthless efficiency, just like he approached any problem needing to be solved. Ritsu didn't embarrass himself with passionate screams or anything like that, but he wasn't all that worried about the "neighbors" hearing anything, since he was Takano's only abutting wall, and they were...well, otherwise engaged at the moment. His thoughts and breaths came out in a stream of incoherent babble, a murky stew of _yes_ and _fuck_ and _there, yes there there_ which only served to stoke whatever fires Takano was running on.

The bed creaked beneath them, rattling against the wall in time to Takano's thrusts, and from the darkness behind his eyelids Ritsu let himself remember, just for a moment, this familiar warmth, this familiar scent, this familiar sound—everything he'd missed _so much_ in the past ten years, back in his arms and desperate for his attentions for once, this strong, powerful man waiting for him just around the corner when he'd resigned himself to a life of comparisons, finding all others wanting in the face of—

" _S—Saga-sempai_..."

Yes, that. _God_ he'd missed that. The feel of that name on his lips, the desperation, and always followed by...

The thrusts turned shallower—but just for a moment, missing hardly a beat before they returned with teeth-shuddering fervor and Takano leaned in close, whispering against his lips a litany of, " _Ritsu. Ritsu_..." At the sound of his name, in that familiar voice, in this context that he'd never realized it was possible for a human to miss so much, Ritsu very nearly came undone.

He canted his hips up, angling them just so to try and help Takano hit that _spot_ , and gripped his shoulders tight as Takano pushed through to his climax, his breath hot and stuttering with echoes of _Ritsu, Ritsu_ still on his lips, and Ritsu felt the coil in his stomach shudder and spring free as he allowed himself one last desperately whispered, " _Sempai_..." before the space behind his eyes turned white with release.

And then the world all of a sudden opened up again and Takano pulled back, expression full of pain and betrayal and confusion even in the dim light filtering in from the kitchen. He rolled back onto his knees, angrily stripping off the condom and tossing it, heavy with liquid, into a small trash can, before running a hand through his hair and opening his mouth to say something, thinking better of it, and shifting off of the bed entirely.

Ritsu scrambled up onto his knees, the gravity of the situation settling heavy over his shoulders "I—Takano-san, I can—"

Explain? Maybe, but Takano was already walking out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

He'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Loosed the mortal coil and just flown off to some limbo where souls wandered for an eternity of their choosing, and his was spending his days in lazy, warm comfort with Onodera. Much as he'd hoped beyond hope that whatever had transpired between them to turn Onodera away, to cool his fires of fast friendship and send him packing, could be resolved—he didn't _seriously_ think that he was that lucky. Masamune was a biting, sarcastic asshole, as Yokozawa liked to put it kindly, and while his friend of nearly ten years could handle him, his next-door neighbor was probably not so forgiving.

So you could perhaps understand why he thought it too good to be true when Onodera seemed to just...let it go. He refused to tell Masamune _why_ he'd tried to cut ties, and it still made his stomach churn with the sick thought that, if he _hadn't_ been a stubborn ass, Onodera would have succeeded, but...he found it all too easy to just forget about all those _niggling details_ and bask in the fact that Onodera had made him coffee, was letting him back into his life, and he was _happy_ for it.

And the realization that he was genuinely _happy_ for it...was about the point that he realized, his stomach turning to a lead weight and threatening to bring him crashing down, that _fuck_. He was falling for the guy. Falling for not just any guy, but Onodera Ritsu, heir to the Onodera Publishing empire, a decent cook, and his next-door neighbor. He hadn't been this _happy_ just to be around someone—not for an extended period of time at least—since meeting Yokozawa (and before then didn't really bear thinking about—so he didn't), and now, a few weeks of late-night drinking binges and movie marathons, and he was _falling in love_? It was ridiculous. Ridiculous—but no less true.

However, Masamune had absolutely no intention of mucking up a good thing, especially not when he'd finally won Onodera back, finally gotten the guy to bend, to bow under his pressure—because it was the only way Masamune knew how to express himself. Subtlety had never been his strong suit, and it showed painfully. Flirting was quite out of the picture—in fact, better to try and put all such thoughts from his mind whenever possible. No, he was back, somehow, in Onodera's good graces—and he had no intention of being moved thence.

He would calmly and coolly endure Onodera's lean frame on all fours, hunching over the DVD player trying to decide which of his eclectic collection they'd watch that evening (and he would not notice the soft curve of his ass or the strong line of his back flowing up and settling between strong shoulders). He would look through, look _past_ Onodera's pink tongue flicking out to catch a dollop of cream left on his lips when Masamune convinced him to try one of the chilled coffee drinks from the local cafe (and he would not have to turn away and physically force his gaze elsewhere). He would grit his teeth and _bear it, dammit_ , when Onodera fell asleep halfway through that one time they'd decided to do their draft checks together ("We both need quiet; let's just order a pizza and settle in.") and let his head pillow against Masamune's shoulder—the longest twenty minutes of his _life_.

But it was hard to remember his dedication to such an end, hard to remember that Onodera was his friend, was probably straight (was probably gunning for Saeki-san, he figured, ten minutes into their engagement), and that Takano had a string of failed relationships behind him, tangled and choking and leading all the way back to high school. It was hard to remember that he'd promised himself he wouldn't touch Onodera, definitely wouldn't _kiss_ Onodera, would never even _think_ of pressing Onodera down onto his bed because he valued their friendship so much...when Onodera was very clearly enjoying all of those things right then and there.

The funny thing was...he'd _wanted_ Onodera to call his name.

He wasn't picky; he'd have settled for _Takano-san_ , preferably sans the usual chiding tone he adopted whenever Masamune suggested something outrageous like knocking down the wall between their apartments and sharing a 2LDK (it wasn't outrageous; it was economically smart). He'd have _preferred_ a nice, soft _Masamune_ —he never thought of himself as his parents' child, either way, but _Masamune_ was always his and his alone. He wouldn't have minded hearing Onodera cry it in throes of ecstasy, not one bit.

What he'd gotten instead had been _Saga_. And not just _Saga_ , but _Saga-sempai_ , and it was safe to say that of all the names he'd been called over the years—some merited, many colorful—this was probably the one that hurt the most. It _hurt_ , but it was _so very sweet_ a pain at the same time. He looked down, breath stolen, and he didn't see the sharp angles and lean muscling of Onodera, but _Ritsu_ , Ritsu in his sweet innocence, his oftentimes frustratingly unfailing devotion, his wide, bright eyes canted off to the side, cheeks flushed not with shame but nerves, embarrassment, _happiness_. " _Saga-sempai_..."

And he couldn't _help it_. He knew in some corner of his mind that still held fast to the logic of what was happening that this was _wrong, so wrong_ , that this wasn't just _Onodera_ , it was _the_ Ritsu—the Ritsu he'd lost, the Ritsu who'd abandoned him. But for just a moment, for one happy, beautiful moment, he could let himself go, could sink back into that mindset and be Saga again—he wouldn't mind it so much, if it meant he could hold _Ritsu_ right now, especially if that Ritsu was one and the same with Onodera. He could put off facing what would inevitably not be a happy conversation, could let himself bask in this memory, a stolen moment, and be _Saga_ and hold _Ritsu_ and impress upon him bodily all the pent up emotions that had dogged him for a decade, his feelings of hurt and betrayal and loss and now, again, love. " _Ritsu...Ritsu..._ "

But all good things had to come to an end, and as his climax washed over him, as he pressed harder, sharper just to hold on to that illusion for even one breath more, he felt the guilt and anger cascade around him, _revolting_ , and pushed away before he became violently ill. Onodera— _Ritsu_ had...used him. Lied to him, betrayed him again. Had _known_ who he was all this time and never lifted a finger to break the news.

Letting Ritsu's protests fall on deaf ears, he closed himself off—mentally and physically as he slammed the door to his room shut behind him. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants from a pile of clean, unfolded laundry he'd really meant to take care of at some point, he slipped them on and padded into the kitchen—it was his house, he didn't have to leave. _Ritsu_ could leave, just as soon as he found his pants.

He snorted derisively; fucking _perfect_. Ten years and he'd still let himself fall for the scrawny little kouhai who'd blurted out he loved Masamune; it was like fate, but fate looking to screw him over.

* * *

In the space of an instant, all the dark warmth that had enveloped Ritsu as he lay beneath Takano, mind racing with pleasure, had dissipated into so much nothingness, and he shivered with a jerking spasm as the temperature in the room dropped without their activities and Takano's body heat to warm him through.

He could hear, through the slammed door, the muffled sounds of Takano shuffling around his living room and kitchen, could picture him in his mind pacing the length from sofa to sink as he tried to come to grips with the truth. He could picture it—because he'd gone through the very same thing only weeks before. He knew how Takano must be feeling right now, but that did little to make him feel better; quite the contrary, it made him feel _worse_ , remembering all the horrible thoughts he'd entertained, the unfounded rage (except Takano's _was_ founded) and frustration that he'd let himself fall into this situation, and he wondered absently why he was busy feeling sorry for things having worked out like this...when it had been what he'd wanted all along, hadn't it?

Sure, he hadn't really _wanted_ Takano to find out this way, hadn't wanted to see that look of pain and betrayal flash across his face, but...it had happened, and like a bandaid being ripped off, the pain was already starting to fade. Ritsu could move on from this now; they could politely ignore one another and forget this night of drunken idiocy, go their separate ways.

He heard the soft _hiss_ of the tap being turned on and stared at the door, boring mental holes in it and envisioning Takano standing at the sink, rinsing clean a mug (just the one, he wouldn't be making any for Ritsu). He'd probably pulled on pants (a pity; Ritsu hadn't even gotten a chance to properly appreciate the man Saga-sempai had grown into under all those layers of winter wear) but foregone a shirt despite the chill, and his back muscles would be flexing as he reached up to pull down the jar of instant mix he kept around for those times he didn't want to brew (more times than Takano liked to admit, Ritsu knew).

In his mind, it was morning, and Ritsu was wandering in wearing one of Takano's dirty work shirts because it was all he'd found at hand. Takano would flash him a smile of forced confidence but which really hid his nervous excitement, and Ritsu would slump down at the little dining room table (that no one ever ate at anyways) and watch him putter around the kitchen, still half-asleep but keeping what focus he could muster on Takano's back, his biceps, his ass, his eyes when he turned and realized Ritsu was watching him. Takano would saunter over, a plate in one hand, and plop down an omelette with _"I love you"_ written in ketchup on its face. Ritsu would pull him down into a kiss because _god you're annoyingly charming_.

But in the real world, it was nigh on one in the morning and Ritsu was alone in Takano's bed, with nothing but a used condom in the trash can and a painful burn from overworked muscles evidence that anything untoward had happened. There were no _I love you_ omlettes here, just Takano waiting in the kitchen pouring himself bitter black coffee and waiting for Ritsu to get his shit together.

He blamed Saga for the past, but...right now, this was _all_ on himself.

Reaching blindly beside the bed in the dark, he finally managed uncover his pants and boxers and quickly slipped them on, pulling a work shirt on over it and praying it was his own and not Takano's. Shuffling over to the door, he cracked it open warily, and poked his head out, wincing at the unexpectedly bright light. Takano was where he'd expected to find him, wiping down a mug with a dirty rag and glaring at the hot water heater as if doing so might make it bring the water to a boil all the more quickly.

While Takano gave no indication that he noticed Ritsu enter, he could tell his presence had not gone undetected. Takano was like some wild game, wary of the hunter's eye while affecting disinterest. And if Ritsu made a false move, the whole illusion would shatter and everything would be over. He cleared his throat softly. "...Takano-san?" No response, of course. He'd hoped for— _something_ , though. Even a derisive snort and, " _So it's back to 'Takano' now, is it?_ " and while it would have stung but been duly earned, it would've been _some_ response, some attention, and not this Takano wandering around the kitchen like a ghost. "I—should apologize, I know. For not telling you earlier—"

There was a metallic clatter, and Ritsu stiffened before he realized it had just been a spoon tossed into the sink. Takano raised his mug to his lips, blowing across the surface, and staring at some far off point that Ritsu couldn't see. Probably at his chances for this conversation to go anywhere remotely near "well." Takano pushed away from the sink, walking slowly so as not to slosh his coffee, and wandered over to the dining room table, pushing aside a stack of unchecked drafts and frowning at some mark he'd made, reevaluating it now and seeming to find it wanting.

Ritsu licked his lips, shifting in place to follow Takano. "I never meant for—it to come out now, you know. I mean—I meant to tell you, obviously, at some point. But just—" And then Takano grabbed his mug and was bearing down on Ritsu—but he just brushed past him like he wasn't even there, continuing on to the living room and headed for one of the guest chairs, plopping down and pulling out his cellphone from his bag on the coffee table with his free hand. Ritsu despaired, growing desperate. "I _—honestly_ , I never meant to..." But his words died in his throat, and he swallowed as his voice cracked embarrassingly. He'd fucked up before in his life...but this had to be the _worst_...

Takano seemed unfazed, scrolling through his incoming texts on his cellphone and calmly sipping his coffee, leaving Ritsu standing there stupidly. He knew he should go—should just gather the rest of his clothes and outerwear and slink on back next door, take a shower and rinse away any evidence that he'd let things progress as far as they had. Yet his feet remained grounded, and he couldn't bring himself to take the first step; all he could do was stare pathetically, helplessly at Takano, silently begging _please_.

And then, mercifully, Takano read his mind again, taking a slow sip of his coffee and then drumming a finger along the curved handle in thought. "...How long did you know."

Ritsu swallowed the lump in his throat, begging his heart to stay in place and not try to leap up out through his mouth. His breath came in rapid pants, and he tripped over his words. "...Since...you told me." Takano's gaze snapped to meet his own, dark and accusing, and Ritsu clarified, "That your name used to be Saga, I mean..." The glare gentled, grew abashed, and Takano forced his focus back on the mug before him, letting Ritsu breathe a sigh of relief. "I...honestly, I swear I didn't suspect a thing before then, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to you—" And here Takano _did_ give a derisive snort. "—And I didn't mean to lead you on—not that I _led you on_ or anything, really, I just knew that if you knew, you'd _freak out_ —" Oh, like Ritsu hadn't? "—and I know it was selfish but I just...wanted to be with you, because I liked being friends with you. I thought we got along..." He finished his babbling confession with a pathetic sigh, shoulders slumping and rubbed at his eyes. He was _tired_ —this was hardly what he'd expected to be doing right now, even ten minutes ago, and he selfishly wished they could just call a truce, forget about this until morning and fall asleep curled up together.

Takano took his time in forming a response, still staring into space as the gears in his mind twisted and turned. "...That's why you avoided me." It wasn't a question; it was a realization, puzzle pieces finally coming together, and while Takano wasn't looking at him, Ritsu simply nodded.

"I—didn't know what to do. You obviously didn't know, and I couldn't just...tell you." He waited for Takano to ask the still-to-come _why not_ , but received nothing for his trouble. "I didn't mean to drag it out, but you were...so earnest. I thought maybe...I could forget about it..." Forget about it and treat Takano like just _Takano_ and not the man who used to be _Saga-sempai_. "I didn't want to hurt you—"

"And I'm not hurt _now_?" Takano snapped, slamming his now-empty mug on the coffee table and springing to his feeet, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Is this your idea of some fucking _joke_? Flitting off without a word one day, and then dropping back in like nothing happened and picking up where we left off?"

Ritsu flushed with anger. "I _told_ you I didn't know, that I didn't mean to hurt you and—you're one to talk! _You_ dumped _me_ , of course I'd run from that; I was a kid! You broke my heart!" And it sounded _so_ melodramatic now, but it was an accurate description of how he'd felt at the time.

Takano's expression was one of mixed disbelief and grave offense. "I dumped _you_? _I_ dumped _you_? You fucking _decked me_ and left without another word! I couldn't have dumped you if I'd even wanted to!"

Ritsu's mind was running a mile a minute, because they were both getting worked up now and it wasn't serving either of their purposes to just _lie_ here, yet their recollections of just what had gone down that day were, suffice to say, drastically different; that was a conversation best left for another time, Ritsu reasoned, and instead jumped back on tack. "Well—anyways, how was I supposed to bring up the topic in the first place?" he huffed. "I was—mad, and confused at first... But the more I thought about it, the more I just convinced myself that if we got along fine now, maybe it would be better just to forget the whole thing had ever happened." Because _yeah_ , that'd worked out _so well_ for the past ten years, right? "I figured we could still be friends just fine without bringing it up—but then you..." He coughed softly, and his voice dropped off. "Kissed me, and I didn't exactly have time to really _fill you in_ before..." He gestured vaguely to the bedroom. Takano's gaze instinctively followed his motion before realizing what he was talking about, and he at least had the good graces to look abashed.

Silence settled between them, with Takano hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, and Ritsu shifting from one foot to the other, unsure as to what the protocol was when you wanted to gracefully excuse yourself from a former flame's presence. He watched Takano warily, trying to gauge his reaction, but the man was a brick wall, as closed off now as he'd been an open book in the bedroom.

 _This_ had been what Ritsu had feared most; _rejection_. That he would not only grow to _like_ Takano, but that all that which had drawn him in before would be just as inescapably attractive ten years later and Ritsu would find himself entangled in his affections and both unwilling and unable to extricate himself, frustratingly bound once again to the man he'd worked so hard to _hate_ all these years. And then at that point when Ritsu finally admitted to himself that he _needed_ Takano...that would be when he'd cut Ritsu loose, shut him down and turn him out because _once a plaything, always a plaything_.

"...I didn't think you'd still want me," Ritsu whispered, staring at the floor. "If you knew who I was, and what I'd done to you before—" He bit his lip and cut himself off. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that at fifteen, he'd hardly been an expert on reading emotions, and if Saga had been anything like Takano (and he _had_ , at least a little), then there was no telling what had prompted their separation, only that Ritsu had tried to make it hurt Saga as much as possible.

He took a step back, breath catching in his throat when he sensed Takano storming over, his own breath coming fast and hard. "You— _what_? Of course I wanted you! _Want_ you—I mean—" And here he lost his powers of eloquence, instead reverting to gesturing in Ritsu's general direction and holding himself back from grabbing Ritsu and shaking sense into him like it looked like he wanted to do. "You're still so... _you_." His tone very nearly dripped _awe_ , like he couldn't believe it himself.

Ritsu released his breath, crossing his arms before him and keeping his gaze down—more to hide his flush of pleasure than out of fear or respect. "I know...what I did was wrong, unforgivable, but..." He swallowed and blinked a few times in rapid succession. "Please don't hate me; I was just scared." So many mistakes he'd made in his life because he was _scared_. When was he going to grow a backbone and take what he had coming?

He could feel Takano staring down at him again, just as he'd done outside, with that same even expression that made fear of the unknown lance through Ritsu's veins. He closed his eyes and braced for impact: "...Let me be alone for a little bit." He brushed past Ritsu back into the kitchen, and with shame still burning his face, Ritsu began gathering his things.


	7. Chapter 7

Masamune flinched when he heard his front door shut behind Ritsu—not because he'd slammed it, but because it meant Masamune could finally release the tension that had been building between his shoulder blades since Ritsu had stepped out of his bedroom.

 _Ritsu_. Because that was who he was; no more _Onodera_ or anything so cold and removed, no. Names meant a great deal to Masamune, and so if they were going to go about this the right way, it was to be with proper names, and since _Ritsu_ held a lot more meaning and history than simply _Onodera_ , Masamune couldn't help but think of him that way now.

He rinsed his mug out in the sink and filled it with cool water straight from the tap, downing the entire contents in one go.

 _"I didn't think you'd still want me,"_ he'd said. Quite possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, because there was really, right now, no one Masamune wanted _more_ than Ritsu— _either one_ —which was what made this whole fucking scenario hurt as much as it did. He slammed the mug onto his counter, chipping the base, and frowned.

He _wanted_ Ritsu—wanted him, pathetically enough, even _more_ now that he knew the truth. It was laughable, and if it'd happened to anyone else, Masamune _would_ have laughed. How many times was he going to come crawling back to Ritsu? How many times was he going to have to experience pain and hurt at this guy's hands before he finally called it a day? Any respectable man in his quite unusual situation would've thrown up his hands in surrender, told Ritsu _thanks but no thanks_ and politely parted ways without looking back. And yet he was standing here in his kitchen, breathing like he'd run a marathon, wondering just how long his self-imposed _little bit_ was supposed to last and would it be terribly gauche for him to go pounding on Ritsu's door straight away.

He sighed, massaging his temples and wandering back into the living room. Now, tomorrow, later still—whenever; less important was the _timing_ of their conversation than the _content._ They needed to put these questions and arguments to rest, even if that unfortunately meant more frowns and snapping back and forth at one another and desperate attempts to salvage even a _friendship_ from the rubble of their fallout—attempts which would inevitably fail, just like all of Masamune's relationships had failed for this very same reason.

He _knew_ they should discuss it... It was only—he didn't _care_ about the past at this point, honestly. His heart had been in his throat the whole time Ritsu had been babbling his apologies because— _dammit_ he agreed with the guy's logic: if they got along now, why screw up a good thing? Why spoil a perfectly good fledgling relationship with nagging details like the fact that Ritsu had decked him and dumped him without a word, for no discernible reason (and _fuck_ what if he did it again? What if he'd never gotten over whatever had been his problem? Surely people _changed_ in ten years, right?).

The only problem with that suggestion was that the past always tended to come and bite you in the ass when you least expected it...and Masamune was not prepared to dive into a relationship he finally _cared_ about making work with that sword hanging over his head.

Rubbing a hand over his face and realizing it was nearing an indecent hour and that he _did_ have work the next day, Masamune shuffled back towards his bedroom, easing the door open and staring at his bed—spacious, and empty. The sheets were in disarray, and a half-empty bottle of lubricant had been tossed up towards the head, settling next to an empty condom package.

 _Fuck_ , he'd actually _done it_ with Onodera ( _Ritsu_ ). He'd had the guy right here, hands fisting in his sheets and sweat soaking into the mattress. Masamune let himself fall limp onto the bed and curled up in a fetal position, pulling the sheets to his face and breathing in deep. _Pathetic_ , but shamelessly fulfilling. God, he felt like a teenager again—his cheeks even heated through with a deep blush when he remembered Ritsu's face, eyes low-lidded and dark with passion, skin covered with a silky sheen of sweat, voice throaty and scratchy even as he cried out for _Saga-sempai_ , completely undone beneath Masamune's fervent attentions. Ritsu had _liked it_ , had liked _him_ , had wanted it and him and everything they did, had been everything Masamune could have possibly _hoped for_ —

The only question still nagging was... was it because he was _Takano-san_...or _Saga-sempai_?

He didn't _want_ to know the answer...but he did know he _needed to_.

* * *

Ritsu was dead on his feet the next day at work, but was nevertheless glad for the distraction. Anything that took his mind off of the spectactular mess the previous night had devolved into was welcome, even if it was as menial a task as copying manuscripts for his fellow editors. The whole thing had been like a dream—something straight out of one of Takano-san's shoujo manga, two fast friends spending time together, laughing and joking, before something tripped a switch and suddenly they were looking at one another in a completely different light. Except then Ritsu had to go and open his big mouth, had to let himself get swept away by passion and sensation and _memory_ and _why_ did he have to go and think of Saga-sempai at a time like that? Hadn't he convinced himself they were completely different people? Hadn't the shiver that had run down his spine when Takano-san's rough, dry lips covered his own been because it was _Takano-san_?

If he'd thought so...he must've been fooling himself, because there had been no mistaking what he'd said.

He let his shoulders slump in defeat, leaning forward to rest his head on the cool desktop before him, and closed his eyes for a moment's peace. No, everything was finally out in the open between them, and there was no going back to the blissful ignorance of before. He wondered offhand what might have happened if they'd never either one of them realized the truth. Would they still have wound up in the hall necking like teenagers? Would Ritsu still have marks in places he couldn't even see, pain in places it wasn't proper to hurt? He let his eyes flutter open again, flushing with memory.

 _Fuck_ , he'd actually _done it_ with Takano-san... He could hardly say the advances had been unwelcome; the moment he'd learned he was _Saga-sempai_ , really all he could _think about_ was all the things they'd done together, all the _places_ they'd done it, all the things Saga-sempai had whispered against his skin at the height of passion. Sometimes, shamefully, when he thought Takano couldn't tell, he'd catch himself looking at him and imagining all those things with _that_ body now... And almost immediately he'd be overwhelmed with guilt, feeling horrible for such one-sided fantasies at Takano's expense.

It wouldn't have been quite so depraved if it had just _stopped_ at fantasies, though; no, the truly pathetic truth came to light when he paused to consider his _feelings_ for Takano. He'd once loved—or been infatuated at least; he'd thought it was love at the time, but it was hard to judge one so young—Saga-sempai, but that had been so long ago, and he'd hardened his heart so effectively it was difficult to remember how much of it had been real and just how hot his fires had burned for his sempai. When it came to Takano, though, even _without_ those memories, he couldn't help but be drawn not just _physically_ to the man, but emotionally, mentally, psychicly even it sometimes felt. They _clicked_ , it was why Ritsu had been so keen to keep up a friendship he knew logically would be better off thrown away. Adding in this new and hard-missed sexual element just sealed it: he was falling hard and fast in love with Takano—Saga—Masamune. _Again._

He clenched his eyes shut and banged his head a few times against the desk, forcing himself back upright, and pouted at no one. Would they be able to stay friends? Probably not—it wasn't smart anyways, and he'd done a pretty good job of making it so Takano-san wouldn't soon want to see his face again. He'd never envisioned being able to be like this with _anyone_ again, let alone Takano-san, and it seemed like such a waste to have to be rid of a closeness he'd come to truly appreciate.

What made it hurt all the more was that...Takano had _really_ liked him, had kissed him and touched him and bedded him without any knowledge of their previous relationship whatsoever. He had _really_ fallen for Ritsu... but—was that even fair? Perhaps he'd done the guy a favor; how cruel was it to let him fall in love with a lie? What if he never would have done any of those things if he'd known who Ritsu was? Didn't that make Ritsu a horrible person?

He groaned aloud, garnering worried stares from coworkers passing in the hallway. Fucking _Saga_.

* * *

The last train had been a _sauna_ , even given the freezing temperatures outside. Hundreds of bodies packed like so many sardines, everyone bundled up in multiple layers, and the heaters running full blast; it was a wonder no one got heat stroke and had to be carted off on a stretcher. Ritsu supposed, if it came to it, he could use this whole debacle as an excuse to move closer to the Onodera offices. Certainly his father would see it as initiative and try to goad Ritsu into finally setting a date for his and An-chan's wedding, which would just be the _icing_ on the cake that was his life of late, but even that would pale in comparison to the mess he'd stridden into with Takano-san.

His shoulder ached under the weight of his bag, heavy with two unchecked drafts awaiting his corrections, and he shifted the burden to his other shoulder, massaging it with his free hand. The hallway leading up to his door was dim and quiet, as typical, and he eyed 1201's door warily, as if expecting Takano-san to somehow _sense_ he was home and come barging out to upbraid him a bit more before the day was over.

But no such verbal assault came, and it was hard to tell from out here if he was even home. Muttering to himself that he should be grateful for small favors—he was in no state to entertain just now—he dug out his keys and quickly shuttled himself into the warmth of the apartment.

"Welcome home," came a muffled voice from the living room of his for some reason _lit_ apartment, and Ritsu froze in shock—oh _fuck_ had he been burgled? Why were all his lights on? Why was the heater running when he distintctly remembered turning it off before leaving that morning? He dropped all his items in a pile, stripping off his coat as he went, and peeked around the corner into the living room, only to find—

"T— _Takano-san_?" And more so, relaxing along the length of Ritsu's couch, sheaf of papers in one hand and bright red marker in the other, dark eyes running up and down the page from behind his glasses. "What...how did you..." Takano's pen darted forward and circled a phrase, directing it towards another position in the panel with an arrow. "Why...are you in my apartment?"

"Waiting for you."

"You were w— _how did you get in_?" They were hardly close enough that Ritsu'd felt like giving the guy a key to his place, and he'd had to unlock the door to get in.

Takano reshuffled the pages, moving on. "Climbed in through the balcony. You forgot to lock it."

Ritsu's coat dropped to the floor at his feet. "But—we're _twelve floors up_."

Shrugging—a comical gesture reclined on the couch as he was—Takano seemed unmoved. "Even so, you should lock your balcony door; anyone could come in."

"That still doesn't answer the question of _why you're in my apartment_."

Takano frowned, pen bleeding through the paper as he stamped a large red X across some dialogue from the heroine. "Got mad at you last night and deleted your info from my cellphone. I forgot your number, so I decided to wait for you here." He waved the papers in Ritsu's general direction, like this explained everything. "Had a draft check to do, so I killed some time."

Ritsu's mind was whirling with questions that he longed to get out in a very manly shocked and offended tone that would probably just wind up making him sound like a hysterical teenager, but in the end the point he latched on to was: "Wait you—were waiting for me? Why?" It was a bit eerie really; Takano seemed...almost _normal_. While no sane person would break into their neighbor's house just to have a chat, Ritsu wouldn't deny that the quirky, frustratingly amusing asshole who lived next to him just _might_ do it if he were bored—or desperate—enough.

Takano took a breath, sighing loudly, and capped his pen, setting it aside onto the coffee table and slapping the sheaf of papers down beside it. Rising to his feet in one smooth motion, and covered the distance between himself and Ritsu in two long strides, bending forward and placing one hand at the base of Ritsu's neck to steady him while Takano pressed their lips together.

Ritsu jerked back like he'd been shocked, bracing a hand between them to place space he hadn't thought he'd need to make. Takano stared down at him with that same frustratingly calm demeanor. "So I didn't have to wait any longer than necessary to do that."

Hating himself for the way his tongue darted out instinctively to capture the precious moisture and warmth left behind, Ritsu raised his hand to his mouth, breath coming fast and voice shaky. "Wh—why did you do that?"

Takano let Ritsu take another step back, shoving his hands in his pocket and letting his head cock to the side just a hair. "Same reason I did it yesterday."

Ritsu shook his head, as if by doing so he might dispell the lies Takano was spouting. "But...we fought..."

Takano just shrugged, so blase by the whole affair that Ritsu half wondered if he hadn't _imagined_ their argument. "We made up."

And now it was starting to get on his nerves. "No. We didn't," he ground out, face heating with frustration and annoyance with how disaffected Takano seemed when Ritsu had been stewing all day. Just because Ritsu was in the wrong didn't give Takano any right to be an asshole (well, more of one than usual).

But here Takano switched tacks, turning on his heels and marching back over to the couch, flopping down like he owned the place. "Let's, then."

Ritsu released a loud _hah?_ of disbelief but took a tentative step forward, crossing his arms before him and warily assessing Takano, convinced this was all some ruse to lure him into a false sense of security at which point Takano would punch his lights out and run off into the night. "You're...not mad? About my not telling you who we were?"

"I was," Takano allowed, and then quickly corrected it to, "I am," and Ritsu raised a brow that said _well now I know you're full of shit_ , prompting Takano to sigh loudly, apparently growing just as tired with all this beating around the bush as Ritsu was. "You asked me yesterday and—no," he admitted with some effort. "I don't hate you. I couldn't— _hate_ someone I..." He trailed off when he glanced over at Ritsu, voice falling silent, and Ritsu grew conscious of the way his heart had leapt in his chest at Takano's half-confession. "I know we need to talk about what happened back then."

And there went any and all warm feelings of hope that had started blossoming in Ritsu's chest. "...Yeah..."

Takano released a growl of frustration and leaned forward, jerking Ritsu towards the couch, and yanked him down to all but fall on top of Takano, instead pushing him off to the side with rough instructions to _just get your ass down here, geez_. Ritsu protested the treatment and scrambled off to the side, practically cowering at the far end of the couch and glaring at Takano—first the guy broke into his apartment, and now assault?

"You know," he grunted, ignoring the murderous glares Ritsu was throwing his way. "I'm the one who thought I'd finally gotten to sleep with Onodera only to find out _I already had_." He met Ritsu's glare, which now dissipated into a more penitent expression. "Shouldn't _I_ be the one wanting to avoid talking?"

Ritsu quickly righted himself, sitting prim and proper at the edge of his couch and ducking his head, and opened his mouth to unleash the stream of apologies he'd been readying in his head all day. "I—yes, sure. But I don't know how many times I can apologize for doing what I thought was the right thing—" He darted a glance over at Takano, trying to gauge his reaction. "I didn't mean to—trick you or anything like that, and I know it wasn't fair that you were with me under false pretenses—"

"What pretenses?" Takano was leaning on his side now, elbow propped on the arm of the couch and looking the picture of laziness as Ritsu poured himself into his apology; he could at least have the good graces to _look_ interested.

Licking his lips, Ritsu tried to order his thoughts in his head, reminding Takano as calmly as possible, "…You probably wouldn't have slept with me if you'd known who I was."

"I wouldn't?"

And it was getting _harder and harder_ to remember that Ritsu was the one supposed to be apologizing and that he didn't have any right to get angry at Takano, that Takano was doing him a _favor_ just by hearing him out—but when the guy kept making flippant comments like that, brushing off Ritsu's empathetic concerns like dust, it was really starting to _piss him off_.

Takano shifted on the couch, not waiting for Ritsu to respond, and crossed his legs before him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees now and staring at Ritsu like he was the most interesting person in the world. "You know—I really did love you back then. If you thought you were some annoying little kouhai I just had a passing fancy for or that I was just messing around with you... That wasn't true." He shrugged to himself. "If I said something stupid or did something to drive you away, it was probably because I was going through a lot of shit back then all at once with my family—and I'm not exactly good at dealing with that kind of stress all at once." Ritsu tried to keep his gaze averted, not wanting to lock eyes with Takano because he knew the power that gaze held, and that if he did so he'd be _trapped_ , unable to keep reminding himself that he'd been tossed away, unable to deny that Saga had never felt anything for him beyond amused affection. "I slept with Onodera last night, though. Not Ritsu. I didn't bring you home with me because I was in love with you ten years ago; it's because of who you are now." When Ritsu didn't reply after a moment, he prodded, "...Did you sleep with me because I was Saga?"

"No! Of course not!" Ritsu snapped, face a mask of horror that Takano could possibly think so little of him, but after a moment of his mouth flapping and nothing coming out, he added, "...But—well, maybe...a little?" And at this Takano's face washed white, brows knitting in hurt confusion. "I don't mean—just more like...despite it?" He leaned forward and let his face fall into his hands, breathing deep. "I just...spent all this time feeling like I'd been played with, because Saga-sempai...because _you_ laughed at me when I asked if you loved me, and when I found out this person that I was getting close with was that _same Saga-sempai_ , you can't really blame me for never wanting to see you again." He snorted derisively at himself. "But then you had to go and be a stubborn jerk and show me that you weren't the same person, a different side, and so I couldn't help..."

He trailed off and realized he must have paused for too long, for after a moment's silence Takano couldn't hold himself back anymore. "'Couldn't help'...?"

Ritsu threw his head back and cocked it to the side, staring pathetically up at his seatmate. "It's cause you're _you_ , you're _always_ you. I can't help it."

Takano's expression was unreadable, but in a flash he'd leaned forward and knocked Ritsu onto his back, half-straddling him, and was choking off his protests at the sudden assault with a kiss. "Wai— _Takano-san_ , you're—"

"That was the right answer."

"That— _what_?" And Takano gentled himself, nudging Ritsu's lips apart with his tongue and smiling when he was met with less violent protests this time. He brought up one hand and stroke a finger down Ritsu's cheek, cupping his jaw and steadying their joining, drawing it out until they broke for air as the intensity ratcheted upwards. "...Takano-san...?" Ritsu's voice was low and rough from their kissing, and his swollen lips tripped over the syllables, but the dozens of questions laced in that single name did not go unheeded.

Takano pulled back just enough to stare down at Ritsu's face, memorizing it anew with the attention of a lover rather than a friend, a neighbor. "You realize we have to have sex again, now."

Ritsu flushed beet red with the nonchalance of the suggestion, " _Takano-san_!"

He leaned down again, smiling against Ritsu's lips. "That's my name. Don't wear it out."

_~fin~_


End file.
